


Stanley

by Puddin_in_my_time



Series: Stanley Uris Lives [2]
Category: IT (2017)
Genre: Anxiety, Best friends being boyfriends, Bittersweet Ending, But It Chapter Two doesn't exist, But they're all best friends and would do anything for each other, Canon Divergence, Character Study, Comatose Richie Tozier, Debatably Unhealthy Relationship, Fix-It of Sorts, Hopeful Ending, Horror Elements, Illnesses, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Internalized Homophobia, It Gets Better, M/M, Outing, Period-Typical Homophobia, References to Canon, References to It Chapter Two spoilers, Richie Tozier is my son-in-law, Self-Harm, Stanley Uris is my son, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, The Losers all love each other they just have debatable ways of showing it sometimes, The story is about hope, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unreliable Narrator, it Chapter Two spoilers in notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2020-10-14 09:37:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 34,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20598638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Puddin_in_my_time/pseuds/Puddin_in_my_time
Summary: Stan waited for a few moments, and then spoke:“Do you ever feel like I’m on the outside? Like all the other Losers have their own skills, or trademark, and I’m just the whiny, scared Jewish one?”“Dude, what the actual fuck?” Richie asked. “No, of course not. You’re just being hard on yourself for no fuckin reason. You know, it’s really hard to come up with insults for a guy who trashmouths himself, right?”________When a series of events sends Stanley on a downward spiral, he's forced to confront his deepest fears and insecurities. He's stronger than he once thought, but is he strong enough to rewrite his story's ending?





	1. Waving Through a Window

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! So first things first, this is a sequel to my first It story, A Good Night's Sleep, so if you plan to read this I'd really recommend reading that first. Second: so, um, I am traumatized after It Chapter Two, and I figured now would be a good time to post this story for all us heartbroken Stanley fans. I wrote this back in 2017 as a response to what I knew would happen in Chapter Two, but I was still not fucking prepared. So here I am posting this.  
*Warnings: Just like the first story, this story will be triggering for certain people. Ironically, if someone else had written it I might not even be able to read it. This story will deal with: suicidal thoughts, anxiety, homophobia, comas, illness, and, I'm including this even though it's technically a spoiler because I feel I should warn everyone, a suicide attempt (which won't be violent, in case anyone is worried). If you are sensitive to any of these, I advise you to use caution if you chose to read this story, and to please stop if you find yourself saying: "Yeah no this isn't good for me or my health." If anyone has specific questions about how far this story will go, feel free to contact me on Tumblr (puddin-in-my-time).  
All that being said, I'll say this now: yes, from the very opening scene this is a dark story that deals with all these things, but it's ultimately a story about finding hope when you think there is none, friendship, and self-empowerment. The ending is going to be bittersweet but hopeful nontheless. I am not writing a story about how the world is bleak and life is meaningless because, even though things may feel that way sometimes, those kinds of stories can suck my queer/Jewish/mentally ill dick.  
Last thing I promise: this story is called Stanley because even though his relationship with Richie is a major part of the story, it's not so much about them as it is a character study of this one Loser. There will still be Stozier scenes, in case anyone is wondering.  
So, all that being said if anyone's still here: away we go.

_September 1989_

Under the bathroom light, Stan could see that the cut was fading away, its former bright red colour now dull against his palm. But the wound still stung like a bitch whenever he touched anything. Why did the group have to take a blood oath, of all things? Since when did pinky promises go out of style? Although, Stan couldn’t help but feel like the pain from his hand was a sort of punishment for breaking the oath. Well, he hadn’t broken it yet, but he was pretty sure he was going to. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that, if Pennywise did come back in 27 years, no matter where he was or what he was doing, he wouldn’t come back. He couldn’t handle facing that monster again. He just couldn’t. Even thinking about another battle in the sewers, having to watch that chilling grin spread like blood-coloured jam on deathly white bread, tore him apart with nerves. Actually, it did more than that. Imagining the return of his nightmare was actually causing his body to shake and sweat, and his chest to tighten like a knot in a shoelace. _Stop it, _he thought to himself, his face clenched together as if closing his eyes was akin to closing his imagination, _stop thinking about it._ He thought of things that made him happy, like his friends: Bill, and Richie, and Eddie and Mike, and Ben and Beverly. He thought of things that made him sad, like the stupid book he was reading in English class. He even thought of things that stressed him out, like the assignment he hadn’t started yet. But none of them could distract him from what he was feeling.

His brain was splintered and broken, memories he wish he’d just forget jammed in his mind’s eye, and terrifying imaginings of the future reminding him he could never be calm. Well, there was one thing that did manage to make him feel calm. 

He turned his attention to the cut on his palm, instantly remembering the way it felt when the broken bottle shard slid through his skin. He remembered feeling better after taking the oath. Up until now, he had thought it was because he felt that he and the rest of the Losers Club were united. But now, tracing his index finger over the mark, he knew the truth. The pain was what made him feel better. It was distracting, and placed his attention on one thing and one thing only. It was oddly relaxing in its own twisted way. Though, just thinking about the pain in that moment didn’t seem to be enough to fully distract him. Maybe a fresher wound would sting better. Looking around for something sharp, he couldn’t find anything that suited his needs. He thought about the edge of the bathroom sink, but that felt like he was taking things too far. As he glanced down at the nails on his outstretched hand, he decided that they’d do just fine. 

Setting them down on his forearm, he quickly dragged them across his skin, lighting it ablaze as the sharp nails made their way to the back of his hand. He winced in pain, but continued anyways. He scratched at his arm again and again until it was a mess of reddened strips against sore flesh. The sting lasted long after he had finished his work, which was more than fine by him. With the pain he felt, he could no longer concentrate all that much on the thought of seeing Pennywise again, of having the demonic clown pry its teeth inside the boy and tear him apart until he was nothing more than a bloody snack…

He scratched once more at his arm, and focused only on the benevolent flame that burned his senses to peace.

_December _

The sound of coughing awoke Stan in the middle of the night, much to his dismay. He was actually having a good night’s sleep, and while that wasn’t as rare as it used to be, it was still something the boy knew not to take for granted. Grumbling, he slowly let the dim light of the room pour into his eyes.

“Richie,” Stan moaned tiredly. “What is it?’

Richie let out another round of coughs, these ones sounding a bit more painful than the last few, followed by what sounded like him trying to sniffle some excess snot back into his nostrils.

“Ah, fuck,” Richie said, placing his hand on his chest as he tried to breathe. “I don’t know. I was fine when we got in, but now it feels like…” He opened his mouth to continue speaking, but found himself breaking into another fit of coughing. In every wheeze and every clearing of his throat, Stan could hear the congested mucus that was building up in his lungs, making him sound less like the boy he knew and more like someone who had gotten into the habit of chain smoking with an actual chain. 

“Shit, that sounds bad,” Stan told him. “You okay?”

Richie cleared his throat once again.

“_Oh, absolutely dandy, good fellow…_” He said in his British Guy™ voice, his words wavering like the strings of a violin before being completely decimated by a loud sneeze. He jerked forward as specs of mucus flew through his nostrils, his arm shaking as he tried to cover his mouth with his shoulder. By the time he was finished, his whole body was shivering, before it just collapsed onto his bed. “Maybe the worst is over.”

“Yeah, I mean it could be…”

Richie sneezed again.

“Bless you

“Thanks…” He sneezed once again.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”.

“`Don’t get mad at me dipshit, I think I have the fl-fl-fl…” Richie sneezed yet again, this one so explosive that he rolled forwards and then back again, sending his skull smashing into the headboard. “Ah, what the fuck?!”

“Do you want something?” Stan asked. “Cough drops? Tea? An exorcist?”

“Yeah sure, call up your dad.” Richie said. “Have him do some Jewish shit to get rid of whatever the fuck is wrong with me.”

“The only Jewish shit he’d give you would be matzo ball soup,” Stan said. “Which does the trick more often than not, actually. I can go get some for you tomorrow if you w…”

Richie wrapped his hands around his mouth and coughed into his palms, his voice sounding like a screeching kettle as he tried to speak.

“That…” Cough. “…sounds…” Double cough. “…great right about now…” Demonic heave.

Stan patted his shoulder reassuringly, before remembering that his boyfriend had coughed into there earlier. His eyes widened as his hand flew backwards, rubbing off on his sleepwear.

Richie cleared his throat, his face marked by pure disgust of what was happening to him. “I really don’t feel good. I mean, I haven’t felt this shitty since your mom gave me gonorrhea.”

“Yeah, that was hard on all of us,” Stan pretended to remember, before placing his hand on Richie’s sweating forehead.

“How bad is it?” Richie asked.

“You’re burning up,” Stan told him, “I think you’ve got a fever.”

Richie grumbled, before pulling the sheets over his shaking body.

“This sucks,” he said, his teeth chattering uncontrollably. “I mean, why couldn’t I get sick last week, instead of one day before the break?”

“You still gonna go in today?” Stan asked. 

“Yeah, I guess so,” Richie said. “I mean, it’s only a half day, right?”

“Yeah,” Stan said. “It would be nice if you came. Just cause I haven’t been able to spend that much time with you lately.”

“You’ve been busy catching up with school,” Richie said. “It’s fine.”

“Yeah, you say that,” Stan said, “but I know you’re still kinda pissed. You can’t lie to me.”  
Richie cocked his head, and sniffled.

“Well, either way I’ll need to get some sleep if we’re gonna wake up early tomorrow,” he said. “Your dad’s showing this place to people at seven?”

“Yeah,” Stan said, “so we’re probably gonna have to get up like half an hour before five so we can have enough time to pack everything up. We’ve gotta remember everything this time, so no leaving our toothbrushes and cereal bowls here. So yeah, I’d say getting up at four thirty should give us enough time.”

Richie’s eyes widened, before he turned to look at the clock on the nightstand.

“That’s in an hour!” Richie said. “I feel like shit as it is; I don’t need to be tired too.”

“Actually, it’s in two hours,” Stan said, pointing to the clock that read two-thirty am. “You know, because two plus two is four. Too complicated? Need me to use my hands?”

“ ‘Need Me To Use My Hands?’: title of your porno,” Richie cracked.

Stan smiled; what others saw as rudeness, he and Richie saw as the foundation for their relationship.

“Five.”

“That’s too fuckin early. Five-thirty.”

“Five-ten.”

“Five-fifteen.”

“Deal.”

The two shook hands.

Tucking themselves into the bed, Stan wrapped the other boy up in his arms, instantly warming him up.

“Feeling better?” Stan asked.

“You’re not Jesus,” Richie said. “You can’t just cure me by touching me.”

“Well joke’s on you, I don’t even believe in Jesus,” Stan said. “Even Jesus isn’t Jesus to me.”

“Wait,” Richie started. “If he wasn’t anything special, why’d you guys kill him?”

Stan’s eyes widened, while a grin made its way onto Richie’s face.

“Shut up,” Stan laughed, playfully shoving the other boy before going back to sleep.

…

Bill, Eddie, and Ben were on the school field, trying to finish up the snowman they had started before school let out later that day. Stan was there too, but he was just standing around, as if he wasn’t sure what he was doing there. His eyes were lost and he was pacing in circles, the way he did whenever he got a bad mark on a test. It was normal for him to be anxious, but something was different today. 

“Hey, S-s-stan,” He said, “You okay?”

“Yeah, fine,” Stan replied halfly, not even looking at the other boy.

Eddie’s head popped up, his eyes immediately scanning over his friend. “Bullshit, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Stan said, still pacing, “It’s just that Richie was sick last night, and now I don’t know where he is. We usually meet by our lockers, but when I got there he wasn’t.”

“He’s fine,” Ben said. “I saw him walking around just a bit before the bell rang.”

“Yeah, walking around to the nurse’s office,” A voice said.

The boys turned to see Gretta standing behind them, two of her goons by her side like loyal dogs.

“Sup, Losers?” She asked.

“You know something about Richie?” Stan asked.

She popped a bubble of gum Bill didn’t know she’d been chewing. 

“Yeah,” Gretta said. “He got sent down to the nurse’s office. Bad flu. Really bad. The teacher said he might even need to go to the hospital.”

“G-g-gretta,” Bill started, hoping his stutter didn’t undermine his attempt at intimidation, “Why don’t you just d-d-do us all a favour and go back to the Black Lagoon?” 

“I th-th-thought about it,” Gretta said.. “but I just couldn’t stomach seeing Beverly again.”

Bill clenched his fist, while Ben grunted in anger.

“So glad she’s gone,” A goon said.

“Me too,” Gretta said. “You know you’re a slut when even your dad wants you.”

That was it. Bill got up off his knees and started towards the monstrous girl, but just then Ben ran right up to her, yelling, and nearly tackled her. He would’ve brought her down to the ground if she and her friends didn’t grab him, lift his shirt so it covered his head, and throw him into the snowman. Stumbling around, he fell to the ground with a thud, the cold snow searing his uncovered skin. Eddie and Stan rushed to help him, while Gretta walked right through Bill.

“Later, losers,” She snickered, her friends following closely behind.

Stan moved Ben’s shirt back over his torso and then took a seat on the snow, his brows knitted and his eyes wide.

“You don’t think Richie’s really…” he started.

“…no, of c-c-course not,” Bill said, “Don’t listen to her. She probably doesn’t know shit.”

“Yeah,” Stan said, still sounding unsure. “Besides: who needs to go to the hospital for a flu?”

“Actually, there are a lot of really dangerous diseases that go unnoticed for a long time because the infected keep thinking they just have the flu…” Eddie started.

Bill turned and gave him a death glare, causing the other boy to put his hands in the air and stop talking.

“Don’t worry,” Ben said, “There’s no way Richie’s in the hospital.”

…

Staring down at Richie’s pale, gown-clad body lying in bed, all Ben could say was, “Huh.”

“Hey guys,” Richie said, his voice strained but his spirits bright. “Here for your crabs treatment?”

“I love how _that’s_ the thanks we get for coming to see you,” Mike said, “I mean, we really didn’t need to. I don’t even like you all the time.”

“But you guys did anyways, cause you love me,” Richie said. “Except Stan though. Stan’s a shithead.”

“Stan’s c-c-coming,” Bill told him. “He just said he needed to get something first.”  
“That was the best word to get tripped up on,” Richie said, “What about Eddie?”

“Oh he’s here,” Mike said, “but he’s not coming in without a…”

Eddie walked into the room, three hospital masks wrapped tightly around his face, covering everywhere from under his nose to the tip of his chin. His breaths sounded like less like inhales and exhales and more like dragged out puffs of smoke being blown from a cigarette.

“What’s up with Darth Vader over here?” Richie asked.

**“This…”** Breath. **“…keeps…” **Another breath. **“…me…”**

“…looking retarded?” Richie suggested.

**“Fuck you,” **Eddie said.

“No thanks. I have a strict Hot People Only policy,” Richie said, before his attention turned to the doorway. “Hey, and here’s one now!”

…

Stan entered the room, a brown paper bag in one of his hands, and put on a smile for appearances’ sake. He took a seat on the chair closest to Richie and roughed up the other boy’s hair.

“Hey,” he said. “You feeling okay?”

“Oh yeah, definitely,” Richie said. “I just go to hospitals to check out the interior design.”

“Don’t forget the jello,” Stan said.

“Too jiggly. If I want something soft and squishy I’d just suck your dick,”

“Hey, it’s doing the best with the boyfriend it’s been given.”

“Pfft. You know I’m hot.”

“Yeah, I do.” Stan blushed.

Mike rolled his eyes.

Richie opened his mouth to speak, but found himself coughing violently instead.

**“Aw, shit!” **Eddie bolted out of there, crashing into the wall opposite the room as he made his way to the elevator.

“Eddie!” Ben called. “Come back!”

“It’s okay,” Stan said. “Actually, can someone go look for him?”

“Yeah sure, I’ll g-g-go” Bill said, getting up from his chair.

“I, uh, kinda hoped all of you could.”

His friends needed a few moments to take the hint.

“Ohhh,” Mike realized. “Okay then. We’ll, uh, leave you two be.”

Mike walked out of the room, followed shortly by Bill and Ben, until finally Stan and Richie were alone together.

“I, uh, guess you freaked out pretty bad when you found out I was here,” Richie said.

Stan shrugged.

“I mean, it wasn’t that bad,” he said. “I was just…worried, that’s all. Still am.”

“Yeah, you look worried,” Richie said, taking his hand. “Is everything okay? Asides from me, obviously, cause I know that not having me around all the time is really gonna drive you crazy.”

Stan sighed.

“I’m not really worried about anything,” He said, “More like I’m just thinking about something.”

“Well do you wanna tell me or should I try to read your mind?”

Stan waited for a few moments, and then spoke:

“Do you ever feel like I’m on the outside? Like all the other Losers have their own skills, or trademark, and I’m just the whiny, scared Jewish one?”

“Dude, what the actual fuck?” Richie asked. “No, of course not. You’re just being hard on yourself for no fuckin reason. You know, it’s really hard to come up with insults for a guy who trashmouths himself, right?”

“Maybe I’m just imagining things, but earlier today Gretta was talking about you, and I asked her something, but when she answered it was like she was talking to everyone else but me. And I realized that’s how I feel all the time. Like I never really matter. Like I’m always in the background.”

“We’re all in the background,” Richie said, “Cause not everyone can be the team leader like Bill.”

“Yeah, I know, but I don’t ever feel like you or Ben or Mike or Eddie aren’t at the center of everything,” Stan said. “It’s weird, and I don’t really know how to explain it to you. It’s kind of like…favourite characters in a movie or t.v show. I can’t imagine anyone picking me as their favourite over the rest of the guys.”

“Yeah, me either,” Richie said, “You’re my boyfriend and I still think of you as The Jewish One.”

“I’m serious,” Stan said. “This has been really bugging me.”

“Well don’t let it,” Richie said. “Just think about something else and wait for it to pass. But I gotta be honest, I feel like you’re just wasting your time on this.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Stan said, before taking a look at the boy in front of him. “Are you gonna be okay alone here, or should I stay?”

“Just go,” Richie said. “I’ll be fine.”

“You sure?” Stan asked. “I really don’t mind.”

“Yeah,” Richie said, “You don’t need to waste your break like I’m wasting mine.”

Stan was still a bit unsure of what to do.

“I’ll feel like shit if I leave you here with your mom and dad.”

“I’ll feel like shit no matter what because I’m dying with the Godzilla of flus so just go.”

Stan sighed. 

“Here, I’ll help: what’s one thing you’ve always wanted to do that I never have?”

Stan took a moment to think. “I can think of a few things, but the one I wanna do most is with you.”

“With me?”

“Yeah, but I just figured you’d never wanna do it, so I never asked.”

“Well what is it?” 

“It’s stupid, really.” 

“Just say it.”

Stan looked down at the floor.

“I wanna dance like the boy and girl couples do.”

Richie furrowed his brows. “That’s it?”  
“Yeah,” Stan said. “That’s it. I wanna go to a school dance and wear a nice suit and dance with you there just like any other couple.”

“Dude, that’s not stupid,” Richie told him, “I’d love to. You don’t think I’ve ever wanted to dance with you? Bullshit. But we just can’t. If people found out about us…”

“…it would be bad,” Stan said. “But yeah. That’s what I’ve been wanting to do.”

“And it’s sweet and beautiful and straight out of a John Hughes movie but it’s not gonna help right now. Go have fun with the Losers or something.”

“Yeah,” Stan said, “It’s probably for the best we don’t dance anyways. We’d probably stomp the fuck out of each other’s toes.” 

“What, are you kidding me? I’d be fucking awesome at dancing.”

“Oh, and what about me?”

“Eh, you’d probably look something like a drunk-ass ostrich trying to look up someone’s skirt.”

Stan furrowed his brows, but laughed anyways. He paused for a second, and then looked at his friend again. “You sure you’re okay here?”

“Jesus Fuck, if you ask me _one more time _I’m breaking up with you right now.”

Stan flipped him off and got up. “Okay, fine. I’ll go hang out with the guys or something.”

“Great,” Richie said, before eyeing the paper bag his boyfriend had brought in with him. “Hey, what’s in here?”

“Oh, right,” Stan remembered, shuffling nervously. “You can look, if you want.”

Richie grabbed the bag and peeked inside.

“Awww, Stan, you brought me soup?” He asked.

“Yeah,” Stan said with a smile. “Matzo ball soup. It always cheers me up when I’m sick. I’m glad you’re happy. I thought you’d think it was too much.”

“Oh it is too much,” Richie said. “It’s _way,_ _way_ too much. But I like that about you. How awesome you can be for the people you like.”

Stan blushed.

“Well, I’m gonna head out now,” He said, “See you tomorrow.”

“Bye, Stan,” Richie said, waving one hand while taking the lid off his tin of soup with the other. He took one look at the two matzo balls in the container, and smiled to himself. 

“No,” Stan said sternly, “Don’t say it.”

“Oh, but I wanna say it so bad…”

“…Richie please…

“…I think I’m gonna say it…”

“…Richie don’t my Bubby makes these…”

“…I always knew one way or another you’d…”

“…no! No no no no no…” Stan dashed out of that room, covering his ears in case his boyfriend decided to finish his sentence.

“Hey! Come back!” Richie called. “I wasn’t gonna say anything! For fuck’s sake even I know there’s a line!”

Stan took a few steps back to poke his head back in through the door.

“Fucking dick,” Stan said, flipping him off and leaving.

Richie smiled to himself, before furrowing his brows.

“Wait, Stanley, are you really pissed at me right now or are we joking?”

“No we’re just joking,” Stan said, coming back into the room for a brief moment.

“Are you sure? Cause I can’t tell when you’re actually upset with me sometimes.”

“No yeah I get it neither can I with you but we’re good.”

“We’re good?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it.”

…

Bill was waiting in one the chairs outside Richie’s room, a single thought rumbling around in his brain: whether or not he’d be a dick if he chose to finally have that conversation with Stan now. The answer was probably yes, but then again, when else would he have the chance to get his friend alone and talk some sense into him? That’s not to say he wasn’t worried about Richie, like the rest of his friends were, but he had a shot now, one he’d be stupid not to take. 

Bill didn’t have one, concrete reason why, but Stan and Richie dating each other just felt wrong to him. And it wasn’t because they both had dicks…or at least that’s what he told himself. The two were just so fricken rude to each other. He didn’t get it; they were already pushing each other’s buttons when they were friends, so why would they think being boyfriends was a good idea? Not only that, but them dating changed things with the group. Even with the rest of the Losers Club around them, they were always kind of off on their own nowadays, making private jokes no one else understood and playing with each other’s hair while their friends just sat by and watched. It was weird. Back when they were just friends, no one ever felt left out. Things were great back when they were just friends. But then of course Halloween came, and Stan just couldn’t stomach the idea of spending a night walking amongst freaky costumes and being scared by random people jumping out from dark corners. Richie said that they were all too old to go trick or treating, so he didn’t mind hanging out with just Stan that night. They must’ve really enjoyed each other’s company, because from then on out the two slowly started making more and more plans to hang out just the two of them, and even politely said ‘no’ when others asked to join them. At first Bill really didn’t mind; Stan was still getting over what happened that summer, so if he had found a way to take his mind off it, Bill was happy for him. But then one lunchtime, Bill had asked his friends if they wanted to go to the movies that weekend, and Stan told him that he and Richie were already planning to go. Alone. That’s when Bill started to realize that something wasn’t right. 

_“S-s-stan,” Bill started, “Why are you hanging out so m-much with Richie?”_

_“I don’t know,” Stan said, “I mean, I really don’t know. I guess it’s just that…he can be really funny sometimes.”_

_“Yeah, and a dickhead literally every other time,” Eddie chimed in._

_“I don’t mind it when he’s a dickhead,” Stan confessed, “I actually find it kinda fun.”_

_“Fun?” Bill had asked._

_“Yeah,” Stan said, “When he’s an asshole to me, I get to be an asshole to him. And he’s so great to mess with. But also…”_

_Stan stopped speaking._

_“What?” Ben asked._

_“On Halloween,” Stan started, “he was different around me. But not so different that I felt awkward or weird. Just enough to make me feel okay. And since then I’ve been wanting to see that side of him more often.”_

_“But why can’t you d-d-do all that with the rest of us?” Bill asked._

_A pensive look grew in Stan’s eyes. “I don’t know, I just…like it when we’re alone.”_

_Richie walked up to the lunch table and took a seat, making sure to rough up Stan’s scalp a bit on his way down._

_“So” He said as he set his tray down, “what are you ladies talking about?”_

_“Just stuff,” Stan said with a shrug, while Bill started to swerve around in his seat, wanting to change his position. From where he was sitting, it looked like Stan’s cheeks were getting redder._

_“Wow, stuff,” Richie started, “so clear, so eloquent. Shakespeare who?”_

_“Well we can’t all be poets like you,” Stan told him._

_“Yeah, I know,” Richie said with pretend cockiness._

_“No, I’m serious,” Stan said, turning to face him completely. “Remember that assignment in English?”_

_“What, the one I got a C minus for?” Richie asked._

_“Yeah,” Stan said, “I actually kinda liked it. Ben’s was still a lot better though.”_

_“Yeah of course,” Richie said, “His was amazing.”_

_“Aw, you really think so?” Ben asked._

_Richie looked at Ben through the lenses of his glasses._

_“No, not at all,” he said, “I was just saying that to be nice. It felt wrong though, so now I’m backtracking.”_

_Ben bowed his head and went back to eating his lunch._

_Stan rolled his eyes.“You’re such an asshole sometimes.” _

_“An asshole who’s meeting you up at seven, right?”_

_“Oh actually I’ve been meaning to tell you: my dad said I can come for six!”_

_“Shit, really? That’s awesome!”_

That whole conversation was pretty weird for Bill at the time. But it was only when the two actually did go to the movies together that things really started to change. The news of what happened that night caught everyone off-guard, but once the initial shock wore off, the friend group was pretty accepting. Ben didn’t see anything wrong with it, Mike actually thought that in retrospect things made a lot more sense, Beverly wrote back saying she how happy she was for the two, and Eddie was only slightly worried about how AIDS would factor into their relationship. Bill wasn’t sure what to think, though. When you know someone for as long as Bill knew Stan and Richie, finding out something so giant about them wasn’t easy. But the new couple didn’t seem to see it as such a big deal, and neither did the rest of his friends.

_“They’re still the same guys we know,” Ben had explained once. “It’s honestly not that big a deal.”_

Only that it _was_ a big deal to Bill. He didn’t care that they were into boys; he cared that they were into_ each other_. He missed the way things used to be. He missed them being best friends, and only best friends. Why was everyone flocking off to find romance when having friends was so much more important? To date someone meant one of two things: you were dating to break up, or you were dating to get married. And at that age, you really only had one of those to choose from. So why did Stan and Richie have to go out and date each other? Nothing would come of it. Just like nothing came of him and Beverly. 

“How much longer?” Eddie asked, his voice now back to normal without the masks. He was pacing back and forth, driving all of his friends completely crazy.

“Eddie, step outside if you’re nervous,” Mike told him.

“I’m not nervous,” Eddie said, before a buzzing sound came on the hospital intercom. 

_“Doctor Lee Wallace, please return to the quarantine,”_ A cold, detached voice announced.

Eddie’s eyes widened, a sort of part grumbling part scream type of sound coming from his unmoving mouth as he sat down in the seat next to Bill. Mike rested his face in his palm.

“So guys,” Bill started, “I’ve been thinking, and are any of you free tonight?”

“I am,” Ben said, “Why? You wanna go to the movies or something?”

“No, I w-w-wasn’t thinking about a movie…” Bill sighed. “Listen, now that Stan and Richie aren’t here, I wanna ask how do you guys feel about them.”

“Richie’s…” Eddie started.

“…yeah, I’m just gonna stop you right there. I mean of them as a couple. T-t-together.” 

All the boys suddenly shut their mouths and sat back in their chairs.

“What?” Bill asked.

“I…” Mike started. “…don’t really think we should get into it.”

“Why n-n-not?” Bill asked.

“Because it’s not really our business,” Mike said. “They’re our friends. What they do together shouldn’t change that.”

“So you don’t think them dating makes things weird, or d-d-different?”

“To me? No, not really,” Mike said. “But then again I guess it’s different for you guys. I haven’t known them as long.”

Bill turned to face Eddie, and asked him how he felt about things.

“I’m ninety-nine point nine percent sure they’ll both catch AIDS and die.”

“Wrong person.” Bill turned to Ben. “What ab-b-bout you?”

“Same with Mike,” Ben said, “I haven’t known them as long. But if they’re happy…I mean, boy or girl, shouldn’t that make us happy?”

“_Are _they happy though?” Eddie asked. “Cause it seems like they piss each other off more than anything.”

“I think that’s just…them,” Mike said. “Plus, Stan’s been doing a lot better since he started hanging out more with Richie. I mean, I don’t know how. That should be against the laws of physics or something. But he seems like he’s doing better.”

Bill sighed. 

“Why are you asking, though?” Mike asked. 

_Fuuuuck…_

“Hey,” Stan said as he made his way to his friends, “I’m ready to go if you guys are.”

“Yes,” Eddie said as he practically soared out of his seat, “yes yes yes yes…”

He kept on saying that until his legs had carried him out of the hospital’s door, as the rest of the boys trailed behind him. _ Phew, _Bill thought. _That was close. _

“Are you guys okay?” Stan asked everyone. “You’re acting like something weird just happened.”

Everyone but Stan exchanged the same wide eyed glance.

Bill turned his head to face Stan.

“Yeah. Everything’s f-f-fine.” 

…

Squirts of red stained the white sink as water poured down from the tap and turned it all to a pinkish hue. Stan washed his wound with soap, causing it to sting and burn, before letting the water wash it all out. He shouldn’t have done that. He told himself he wouldn’t do that. He was supposed to get out of the house and go see one of his friends if he ever felt like doing that again; sure, none of them knew about what he was going through, but they were always able to lift him up. But with Richie in the hospital and with all the things Eddie kept saying about flu-like illnesses that were actually much more serious…he needed a distraction. And he needed the way the pain brought him back to reality, stopping his mind from wandering off with all the worst possible scenarios. So he reverted back to old habits. Next time he’d do better.

By the time he had washed his cut clean and switched into a long sleeve shirt, the sky was already dark, streetlights and falling snow acting as the only sources of any colour other than black. Sitting in his bedroom, he looked out and imagined what it would be like if Richie was out of the hospital. The two may‘ve had a snowball fight on his front lawn, even in the dark of a winter’s afternoon. Ever since the summer, Stan always grew panicky when it got dark outside, but Richie would’ve calmed him down enough for the two to have fun. Outside his window, he could practically see him and his boyfriend playing in the snow outside his house, throwing snowballs at each other while shouting the most creative insults they could think of. It would’ve been awesome. 

As much as Stan loved the image he had created outside his window, he couldn’t help but be distracted by what sounded like creaks in the floors of his house. Slowly walking to his bedroom door, he looked out to see if anyone was there. No, no one could’ve been; his mom and dad were at an event at his synagogue that afternoon, and would only be back later that night. _Probably nothing, _Stan thought to himself as he sat back down on his bed, not able to help feeling disappointed in himself. He thought he was over all the paranoia, at least for the most part. Since that night during Chanukah he rarely got nightmares, and while there were still things he would refuse to do (walk alone at night, walk alone in the daytime, walk alone in the afternoon…pretty much anything to do with walking alone), he thought he was finally in a good place. But here he was, getting scared over what was probably just nothing…

Something pounded on his bedroom window, the loud sound of the object crashing against the plastic causing Stan to jump off his bed. Across the window were tiny crystals of ice, and one large clump of snow plastered right in the center of all of them. Walking over, Stan could see that his imaginary moment with his boyfriend was gone. There was no Imaginary Him hurling snowballs, or Imaginary Richie dropping F-Bombs like rain in a thunderstorm. All Stan could see were a pair of thick black glasses left lying around, the lenses fogged. Even without the obvious fact that they were missing a pair eyes, they seemed…empty to him. 

With a vigorous rub of his eyes, Stan suddenly noticed that the sight before him had vanished. All that awaited him outside his window was falling snow and dim street lights. He sighed and started to crawl into bed, hitting the lights and curling into a ball. It was still pretty early, but that day hadn’t exactly been kind to him, and he didn’t feel like being awake to see what else it may have in store. There was that, and the fact that he was mildly worried that if he stayed awake any longer, he’d start seeing things again. _I’m alone, _Stan reminded himself, _I’m_…he took a moment longer to think, feeling the coldness of his bed and the empty space beside him. From the shakiness of his breath and the wobbling of his kneecaps, he could tell sleeping that night would be next to impossible. Maybe he could borrow some of his mom’s sleeping pills; they were prescription, for her insomnia, but taking one might help. Or it might make him foam at the mouth and overdose. He also had a hard time remembering what they looked like; he once almost took one for a headache by accident, until he gave the bottle a look over and read the prescription. Stan took a moment to think. _I think I’m good. Being lonely and terrified for a night isn’t as bad as OD-ing. _

Taking a deep breath to steady his shaky body, he glanced out the window, trying to see if there was anything outside watching him. Then he turned his attention to the doorway, and the dark hallway obscured in shadows. In that moment, his bedsheets seemed less like blankets and more like a snare. He threw them off as he jumped out of bed, leaving his room. He had to make sure nothing was outside. Just in case. 

Sure enough, when Stan went out into his hallway he saw nothing. Although, when he looked down the stairs, and the place of shadows they led to, he instantly felt a sense of impending panic. _For fuck’s sake, I’ll just go down and make sure nothing’s there, _Stan thought as he marched down the stairs.

“Listen,” He told himself, “For the last fucking time, I’m alone…”

Stan lost his train of thought when he realized his foot was slipping off one of the stairs. _Fuck. _Trying to regain his balance, he found he was too late to stop himself from falling down, his body continuously banging on what felt like an endless flight of stairs. By the time he rolled off onto the floor, he felt a burning sensation in his knees, and winced in pain. Slowly opening his eyes, he could see something sitting a few meters away from him. It took him a few seconds to realize it was his dad’s razor.

“What?” Stan asked himself, before looking back at the bathroom upstairs. He was pretty sure he left it there, not just lying around on the floor. He’d never do that; it was just bad housekeeping, not to mention it would’ve definitely tipped off his parents…he took a moment to think. _His parents_. His parents who could come home at any second, and find him with the razor. No doubt they’d make him lift up his sleeves, and by that point it would only be a few seconds before his cover was blown. He needed to get rid of it. Now. Turning his attention to the floor, he found himself taken aback a little bit; he was pretty sure the razor was lying further away from him last time he saw it. 

A creaking sound quickly caught his attention. Similar to the one he’d heard earlier. He turned his head so jarringly he thought it might snap off, only to see that nothing was behind him. No clowns, no dead kids, no painted women with messed up faces. Only shadows. He sighed with relief. And buried his face in his palm in disappointment. 

“I’m such a dumbass.”

With his face still in his hands, he started to pick himself up off the floor. Only when he opened his eyes to get a sense of surroundings, he found where his dad’s razor was: in his wrist. 

Blood was gushing out of the cut, and as the blade dug itself further and further into his flesh, it kept squirting out, some onto the floor, some onto his clothes, and some further down his arm. 

Stan screamed and practically jumped off the floor, before turning and running as far as he could. He needed to get out of his house. He needed to get somewhere safe, with his friends, where he’d stop seeing things. Maybe then he would stop going crazy. Unfortunately, he didn’t get very far; as soon as he turned, a group of long, gloved fingers curled around his neck and squeezed.

_“Time to float.”_

Stan’s pupils turned pale as his body drifted into the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll update as soon as I can; it's all written and edited already, it's just long so I'm posting it in chapters. Each chapter title is named after a song on a playlist I created specifically for this story, and Chapter One's is Waving Through a Window from Dear Evan Hansen: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kfnMvo87fQU  
See you soon,  
Alex "Eternally Fucked Up By It Chapter Two" M-M


	2. I Can't Breathe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! I said I would try to update as soon as I could, and good smol Jewish boy that I am, I keep my promises. A week between chapters isn't too long, right? That's the amount of time I'm aiming for, partially cause I wanna buy myself as much time as possible to finish the story I'm working on right now before this one is all posted. Also: thank you so much for all the kudos! I really really appreciate them. So without further adieu: here's chapter two.

Tapping. Bill’s foot wouldn’t stop tapping on the hospital floor, and even though he hated the annoying click of his shoe against the tiles and even though his ankle was starting to cramp up, he couldn’t stop. With the news he’d just heard, he had two options on how to cope with it: tap his foot against the floor, or shit himself. And Eddie was already taking care of that second one.

“GAAAAAHH!” Eddie screamed into his palms, his head tucked in between his knees.

“Did you get it all out of your system?” Ben asked.

Eddie brought his head back up again.

“Yeah, thanks,” He said.

Bill’s foot just kept tapping on the floor.

_Fuck, how are we gonna explain this to Stan?_

“I don’t even know,” Mike said, shaking his head.

Bill was so distracted he didn’t even realize he’d said that aloud.

“I think Ben should be the one to break it to him,” Eddie said, turning to the boy. “You’re good with words.”

“I’m g-g-good with words too,” Bill said.

Every other Loser sank into their chairs. 

“Yeah, of course,” Mike said; he was the newest member of the club, but he still knew about Bill’s unspoken (and pretty much one-sided) rivalry with a certain member of the group. And how sensitive he was about said member being such a romantic.

“Yeah, handwritten poems and stuff don’t mean shit.” Eddie looked over at Ben and mouthed “Sorry.”

Just then, Stan came in through the elevator doors, and even though Bill knew there was no way he could have heard about what happened, it was clear that there was something very off about him. His eyes weren’t focused on anything, and had an almost absent look to them. His hands seemed to be shaking. 

“Hey,” He said to his friends, taking a seat beside them. “I saw Richie’s mom in the lobby downing whatever was in her flask. Is everything okay?”

“Oh, you know her,” Ben said. “Always drinking.”

“It’s tragic, really,” Mike said. “She should get help.”

“Yeah, I know she’s always drunk off her ass,” Stan said, “but she looked worried. And now you guys are acting kinda weirdly. What’s going on?”

Everyone was silent for a few moments.

“Listen,” Ben said, “something happened, but before we tell you, we want you to know that everything’s gonna be fine...”

“...Richie’s in a coma.”

The words had slipped out of Eddie’s mouth as easily as air did.

Stan’s eyes went wide. “Wait, what?”

He got up and rushed inside Richie’s room. There weren’t any doctors inside, which meant Stan was able to drop to his knees beside Richie’s bed and take his hand.

“Hey, Richie,” Stan said, laughing a little. “Good joke. But come on, cut it out. I really need to talk to you about something.”

Richie just laid there, his face blank and lacking any of his usual expressions.

“Come on, don’t be such a dick okay?” Stan said. “Normally I’d be okay with this, but now I really, really need you, so just stop with this bullshit and talk to me.”

Mike stared at the floor.

Eddie joined him.

Bill just wanted to get out of that room as soon as possible.

“Richie?” Stan waited a few seconds, then dropped the boy’s hand. He turned to face his friends. “Why...why’s he...what happened to him?”

“His mom told us that the doctors told her he’s got a lot more than the flu,” Eddie said. “They’re not sure what it is, but it’s some kind of really bad lung infection. And it was gonna get a lot worse if they didn’t put him under. Whatever it is, it’s not contagious, though.”

There it was again. That absence in Stan’s eyes. Only this time, his eyes actually _were_ focused on something: the chairs in the room. But no one was sitting there. Maybe he just couldn’t look Eddie straight in the eyes..

“Are you okay?” Bill asked softly.

“Can I just...have a minute alone with him?” Stan asked.

“I mean whatever you tell him, he’s not gonna hear you…” Eddie started.

Bill nudged his arm.

“Sh-sh-sure you can,” Bill said, “We’ll wait out.”

As the Losers Club cleared out, Bill stuck his head back in the room. Just for a second, to see if Stan was okay. The boy was curled up into a ball by Richie’s bed, his head buried in his arms.

…

“Fuck!” Stan cried out as he kicked his leg forward, sending a nearby chair crashing to the ground. _Breathe, _Stan tried to remind himself, but his lungs felt like they had been hit with shrapnel, his every breath collapsing in on itself as they bled out. _Just fucking breathe, okay? _But he couldn’t. No matter how many times he reminded himself, he just couldn’t. He couldn’t breathe. He just couldn’t. He couldn’t breathe. He just couldn’t. He wanted Richie to wake up, or at least be able to hear him, if only so he could scream in his face about how selfish and stupid it was to let himself get sick and go in a coma when Stan needed him so much because Stan did need him almost more than he ever did because he couldn’t stop thinking about what he saw last night when he floated and couldn’t stop wondering what it meant and if it meant what he thought it did and he wanted someone by his side to hold him tightly and tell him it was all in his head and wasn’t real and that he was safe and protected and cared for and had no reason to worry even though that’s all he fucking did sometimes because he’s Stan and that’s what he’s used to but no- scratch that- he didn’t want anyone by his side because he wanted Richie only Richie just Richie no one else but Richie alive well rude as fuck Richie and now that he wasn’t there and couldn’t talk to him he couldn’t breathe he just couldn’t breathe oh please God why couldn’t he breathe…

For a few seconds, the whole room went silent, save for the high-pitched sound of nothingness.

Stan lifted his head from his lap to see the waiting chairs

There he was again.

There _It _was again.

“Please go away. Please, please just go away.”

Pennywise grinned.

_“Okay,” _It said. _“I can come back in a few. Hmmm, maybe I’ll squeeze in a quick Dead Georgie nightmare for Billy before you’re ready for me. Oh, it’ll be just like old times! Well, not just like old times. I’d need to eat a baby for it to be just like old times. Do you know any babies nearby, Stanley Boy?”_

Stan let himself break down into tears, and cried into his lap.

“Why are you here?”

_“Why am I here?” _Pennywise asked. _“I’m sorry, but were you paying any attention to what I showed you last night?”_

That couldn’t have been further from the truth. Not a second had gone by that day where Stan didn’t get chills thinking about what he saw while he was floating. Well, Richie being in a coma did distract him from it, so maybe Pennywise was able to tell that his priorities had changed.

_“Relax, Stanley Boy,” _Pennywise said. _“I’m here to help!”_

“Help?” Stan lifted his head to face the clown. “How the fuck are you helping me? What part of _any_ of this bullshit is supposed to fucking help me?”

Pennywise stood up from the chair and walked over to him, placing a hand on his shoulder as It crouched down beside him. 

_"Now don’t take this the wrong way, but you need to kill yourself.”_

Stan raised his brows.

“What?”

_“I said you need to kill yourself.” _Pennywise said. _“And today, we’re going to play a little game. I just love games, don’t you? Well, in this one, I’ll be the teacher, and you’ll be the student, and I’m going to tell you three reasons why you should slit your wrist, and if by the end of it you and I don’t see eye to deadlights, I’ll let you go on and live your life.”_

Stan really wasn’t sure what to say...or think, because he was pretty sure this was all just another dream or something. Well, mostly sure. Fifty-fifty, at least.

“But I...I...I don’t wanna kill myself!” Stan said, his voice cracking. “I don’t! I mean, for a few months I was thinking about it, but I’m better now.”

_“Oh,” _Pennywise chuckled. “_No one ever really gets better from something like that. You can learn to fight those thoughts, but they always come back. It’s for the best, in your case. Others, not so much. But you? Your bleeding wrist is written in the stars.”_

Stan took a moment to think.

“Is that why I wasn’t there?” Stan asked. “In the dream I had, last night. When I was floating. I saw us. The Losers Club, I mean. Twenty-seven years from now. But there were only six of us. The one that was missing...it was me, wasn’t it?”

_“Yes,” _Pennywise said, _“I’m afraid so. Which brings us to lesson number one. But I think I better let you get on with your day, just for now. See you later, Stanley Boy!”_

And before Stan could say anything, the clown was gone. 

“He’s not gone,” Stan told himself. “He was never even here.”

Bringing himself up to his feet, he dried his tears and looked over at Richie again.

“Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere.”

Richie didn’t seem convinced.

Stan walked over to him, knelt down, and took his hands.

“I’m gonna be right here beside you when you wake up. All you have to do is get better. Deal?”

Stan shook the boy’s unmoving hand.

“I’ll take that as a yes, Richie.”

Stan took a deep breath, fought back a few tears, and left the room. 

“Hey guys,” he said to his friends, clearing his throat. “I’m good to go if you are.”

“Wait, seriously?” Mike furrowed his brows. “I thought you’d wanna spend more time with him.”

“Well I mean there’s nothing we can do,” Stan said. “Yesterday he told me he wanted us to go on and have fun without him.”

This whole nonchalant attitude about his best friend/boyfriend being in a coma was all bullshit. Stan knew it, and the rest of the Losers probably knew it. But it was an act he had to perform nonetheless. He couldn’t go back to being who he was before the third night of Chanukah. He couldn’t, and he wouldn’t. He was going to be strong this time around. Even if it meant pretending he wasn’t worried about Richie.

“Wow, Stan,” Ben said. “I’m kinda surprised. We were all really worried about how you'd react.”

Stan stared at the floor.

"I'm fine, I guess. I'm worried, but I'm fine."

"You don't have to be," Mike said. "We get it. This is really scary."

Eddie nodded.

“Yeah. Yeah it is. But I’m fine. Come on, let’s go get some fun stories to tell Richie when he wakes up.”

Stan was the first of the group to leave for the elevator, while the rest of the Losers Club just stared at each other confusedly.

“Come on,” he told them. “Last one out has to pay for Richie’s flowers.”

…

Stan walked back into his house, stomping his boots on the floor to shake the snow off before he dragged any into the hallway. He took off his jacket and made his way inside, ready to go up to his room and collapse on the bed. That whole day was a nightmare. He had been trying way too hard to sell the “Totally fine” look. And in a way, he felt bad about it. Not because he had to put his friends through his terrible acting skills, but because of how some of the things he said would’ve sounded to Richie if he were awake. Sure, the two made fun of each other all the time, but to just cut his friends off when they were expressing their concerns to say, “Don’t worry, he’ll be fine,” or, “Stop making such a big deal out of it,” was something else. That wasn’t playful teasing. That was just being heartless. But Stan only said all those things and acted that way to keep himself from breaking down. Pennywise promised him three reasons to kill himself, and he wasn’t about to give It the satisfaction of making Its victory any easier. If that meant downplaying his worries to keep himself as calm as possible, then so be it. _I’m not gonna kill myself, _Stan thought, _my bullshit imaginary Pennywise can suck a dick for all I care…_

He stopped when he saw his mom and dad sitting at the kitchen table, their heads bowed until Stan came in. 

“Hey,” Stan said, “Why are you home? I thought you were working late.”

His father sighed. 

“We needed to talk to you about something, Stanley. Something that concerns us…”

Stan’s mom started to burst into tears, and even excused herself as she left the kitchen and locked herself in the bathroom. He felt his stomach turn. _Fuck, they didn’t find out about the razor, did they?_

“What is it?” Stan asked. “You’re scaring me.”

“Quite frankly, Stan, you’re scaring us,” His father said. 

Stan’s stomach dropped. He made his way over to the table to sit.

"You can stand, Stanley."

He quickly backed away and retreated to the wall.

“I was showing around the caretaker’s flat at the synagogue,” His father said. "You know, the one you’ve been asking so much about lately. And you can imagine my surprise when I found this…” He reached underneath the table and brought up a box of Pac-man cereal.

He and Richie had remembered the bowls, had remembered the plastic spoons, but they'd forgotten about the actual cereal itself. 

“Care to explain?”

Stan could feel his face changing into a sickly shade of white.

“Well I’ll take a guess,” His father continued. “I think you and your friend Richie have been sneaking up there to spend some time. By yourselves.”

“No, that-that’s not true,” Stan said. “You can call Richie’s mom if you want! She’ll tell you I’ve been spending the night over at his place for the past few weeks, just like I said.”

“Oh, we spoke to her, Stan,” His father said, the very sound of his voice ripping the boy’s stomach apart and causing him to shake in his spot. “She told us about what’s happening with her son, now. And that before he went under, he tried to write you something.”

“He d-did? What’d he write. Does she still have it? Can she show me…”

His father slammed his fist against the table, and stood up.

“Stanley,” He started, “What is Richie to you?”

“He’s a friend,” Stan said, feeling like he was choking on his own words, “He’s-he’s just a friend, dad. Nothing else...”

“...stop lying to me,” His father said, making his way over to him. “All you ever seem to do is lie these days.”

“I’m not lying, Dad,” Stan said, “I swear, okay? I swear to you, Richie’s just a friend.”

“Then why did he write only to you?”

Stan’s heart skipped a beat. His dad must’ve read the note. He clenched his fist. His dad had no right. It was private. No one was supposed to know about the things he and Richie said to each other when they were alone. Those words, whatever they were, were for his and Richie’s ears only.

Stan eyed a folded up piece of paper in his father’s pocket.

“You have it. You have the note, don’t you?”

“So it’s true, isn’t it…”

“Dad give it.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said give me the fucking note, okay…”

“Don’t you dare use that tone with me, young man! How could you do this to us, Stan? How could you still let us call you our son while you did these things? We could have helped you.”

“I don’t want your help! I want you to stop treating me like I’m a monster! And I want you give me my fucking note...”

His father reached into his pocket and tore up the letter right there, letting the scraps of the precious paper fall onto the floor like scattered ashes.

Stan dropped to his knees, searching for the pieces in an attempt to reassemble them. For the briefest of moments, he was able to fill in the gaps and see that Richie had written: _I’m gonna be fine. Please don’t freak out, okay? _

Before he could give it another look over his father bent down, grabbed his arms, and hoisted him up onto his feet.

“Listen, Stanley: so long as you live under this roof, you will not have that note, you will not go out to see your so-called friends, and you will most definitely never see that Richie boy ever again…”

Stan really only saw one option. He shook himself free of his father’s hold and rushed out the door, grabbing his coat and boots on the way. 

“Stanley come back here…”

Stan shut the door and ran as fast as he could out into the cold, the chilly air biting at his face as he sped away. He didn’t know where to go. One of his friend’s houses? No, that’s the first place his father would look for him, if he would go looking for him at all. Whatever. It didn't matter. He said so long as Stan lived under his roof, he couldn’t do any of the things that made him happy. So he wasn’t going to live under his roof anymore. He was going to go out on his own, live by himself if he had to. But he wasn’t going to let his dad rule his life. He had no right. No right to tell him he couldn’t be with his friends, no right to treat him like a freak, and no right to forbid him from seeing Richie. Stan had to be with his friends. Even more so, now. They were the only real family he had left.

Soon enough, Stan found himself in a familiar place. He didn’t even realize that’s where he’d been going until it was too late. The thing was, though, he couldn’t figure out why he’d decided to go there. He almost threw up everytime he saw it on a map, and in fact promised himself he’d never go back since the moment he’d left it the last time. But there he was, on Neibolt street, standing across from Pennywise’s home. Only then, did he realize why he went there.

_"So, Stanley Boy,” _Pennywise said to him. _“Ready to listen?”_

Stan turned around, and looked the clown in It’s eyes.

“I’m all ears.”

Pennywise grinned. _"Come with me.”_

As It made its way down the street, Stan trailed from behind, barely able to see in front of the demon’s tall figure. Eventually, the two had made their way around to the side of the house, and stood against a snow-covered fence with a gap towards the bottom. 

_"Look in front, Stanley Boy_," Pennywise said. _"Go on!"_

Stan sighed, and looked at the decrepitated house.

_"Do you remember the last time you were here?” _Pennywise asked.

“A little too much, but yeah. "

_"And how long ago was that?” _

“A few months ago, why?”

_"Doesn’t it feel like it was just yesterday?”_

Stan looked on and found that the answer, surprisingly, was yes. He could almost see the Losers Club walking through the door, Bill leading the charge, and Stan waiting outside, hesitant to join his friends. 

Stan furrowed his brows. “Yeah...it kind of does."

_“Time works like that,” _Pennywise said. _“Time. Sometimes we have too much, sometimes we have too little, and although it never runs out, everyone wants more.”_

“And?” Stan asked. “What’s your point.”

Pennywise pulled out a small clock from underneath Its large sleeve, and handed it to Stan. When the boy looked up from it, he saw that the snow around him had melted, revealing yellowed, sickly patches of grass. The air around him was hot and humid, and when he looked down at himself he noticed he had traded in his large winter coat and boots for a short sleeve shirt and running shoes. The cuts on his forearm were still there, bright as day and red as a leaking ruby. 

“What just happened?”

_“About a year just passed.” _Pennywise pushed the hands on the clock around with Its gloved finger and brought them all up to the twelve. When Stan looked up, he saw it was Winter again. Then with another rotation of the clock hands, it was Summer.

“Stop it."

_“I’m not the one who’s doing it. It’s just time. You can worry about it, make yourself sick with fear, but it’ll still keep ticking and tocking forward. “_

The seasons kept changing, back and forth and back and forth until finally Stan had to close his eyes. He tried to remind himself that it wasn’t real, but he knew, deep down that didn't matter. Pennywise was still telling the truth. Even if what he was seeing wasn’t actually happening, time did still move forward. There was no stopping it. And that was exactly the clown's point.

When Stan opened his eyes, he saw himself standing in front of the house. Only he didn’t look like himself at all; he was in his forties, around his dad’s age. And while that alone could have terrified him to his core, it’s spotlight was taken away by the fact that his older self was walking around with his entrails and intestines leaking out.

Stan bent forward, almost throwing up the dinner he didn’t eat as he gagged. But as he stared down at the grass and the dirt, he felt something dripping down his neck. Looking up, Stan saw Pennywise licking It’s fingers clean of their thick bloody coating.

_“Time is inevitable, and so am I, Stanley. Eventually you’ll have to face me again. You know you will. I disappeared into the well. You didn't really think I was gone forever, did you? No, no you're much too smart. You know that sooner or later, I’ll be back. And I will make you scared.”_

Stan took a seat on the grass and buried his head in his palms.

_“But don’t be sad,” Pennywise said. “There’s still a way you can save yourself. I can’t kill you if you’re already dead. And the dead don’t feel fear, Stanley Boy. All they feel is the inside of a coffin.”_

There was a sickening chuckle, and then Stan was alone in the snow in front of the Well House. 

…

“Park, or movie theatre?” Bill asked himself, staring at his sketchbook while laying in bed. He was trying to come up with the perfect backdrop for his drawing. He had already sketched in Stan and Richie in the front, acting as they used to before they started dating, so now all he needed was a place for them to hang out. But once he got to thinking about it, a park was too romantic, and the movie theatre was where the couple had their first kiss. Drawing them in either of those places would’ve ruined the whole point of the sketch: to have one moment of his two friends, the ones he’d known for almost his whole life, acting like the two friends he’d known for almost his whole life. 

“Arcade,” Bill said to himself. Nowhere oozed platonic relationships more than the arcade. He was halfway through drawing the location in when he remembered that he was pretty sure that’s where Stan and Richie hung out on Halloween, on their first night truly alone together in so long. Bill sighed, ripped the page out, and crumpled it up. 

Just then he heard the doorbell ringing. _That’s weird, _Bill said, _No one rings the doorbell so late._

After a brief exchange between his mom and whoever it was that came to the house that night, he heard the sounds of someone coming up the stairs. For a brief second, he was almost panicked. But soon enough, the visitor came to his door and instantly calmed him.

“S-s-stan?” Bill asked. 

“Hey Bill..." Stan smiled a little awkwardly. “...can I please sleep over tonight?”

Bill was a bit too shocked to say anything other than yes.

“Thanks so much,” Stan said as he entered the room, and took a seat on the floor.

“How’d you g-g-get past my mom?” Bill asked.

“I just told her you forgot to mention I was coming,” Stan said.

Bill raised an eyebrow. He didn’t realize Stan was that good at lying. 

“Do you have a blanket I could borrow?” Stan asked. “Also a toothbrush. And some pyjamas would be awesome, but if not I’ll just sleep in what I’m wearing.”

“I-uh- don’t think we have pyjamas,” Bill said. “There should be an extra toothbrush in the b-b-bathroom.”

“Great, thanks,” Stan said, making his way over there. Bill made a trip downstairs to get a sleeping bag he used once for camping, and then after a few minutes of waiting for the boy to finish brushing his teeth and wondering what the hell was going on, Stan returned, thanked his friend for the place to stay, and made himself at home on the floor.

“Stan...what’s going on?”

The boy’s face went white, and now that Bill was close enough, he noticed that the boy’s eyes had a reddish hue to them, as if he were seconds away from breaking into tears.

“Can I tell you in the morning?” Stan asked. “I really just wanna sleep now. It’s been a shitty day.”

“Sh-sh-sure,” Bill said.

“Thanks,” Stan said, before turning on his side and shutting his eyes. “Night.”

“Night,” Bill said, shutting off the light on his nightstand.

A few minutes passed, and Bill was about to fall asleep before Stan asked:

“Hey Bill?”

He didn’t turn over, but answered: “Uh-huh?”

Stan went quiet for a bit. “Do you ever feel...scared?”

“Of c-c-course, Stan. All the t-t-time.”

“No, but not scared like the way we were this summer.”

“Like p-p-presenting in front of the class scared?”

“No, not even that. Like...scared of yourself, if that makes any sense.”

Bill took a moment to think. “Sorry, I don’t really kn-kn-know what you mean.”

“Oh. Okay. Nevermind.”

“You can try to explain it if you w-w-want…”

“No its okay, it was stupid. I don’t even know what I meant, really.”

“Oh...okay.”

They didn’t talk for the rest of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I Can't Breathe by Bea Miller: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3xBOYHL9XiM
> 
> Like I said: I'm trying to post chapters weekly, so if you like this story then check back around this time next week for chapter three. Also I really, really don't mean to brag, but I had the whole "I am inevitable" thing written down like, a full two years before Thanos said it in Endgame. I'm just saying. Where's my two billion dollars?  
Kidding, of course  
-Alex "Still Sore From the Slap in the Face that Was It Chapter Two" M-M


	3. Inner Demons

The morning after was pretty awkward. The two had gone to sleepovers before, but this was the first since Stan and Richie started dating. When Bill got out of the shower, he had to take special care to stay outside of his friend’s line of view before putting his shirt on. He was sure that Stan felt nothing but friendship for him, but he wasn’t about to start taking any chances. During breakfast, it was pretty obvious that Stan could tell things were off as well.

“Did you start any of the homework yet?” The boy asked.

“We just g-g-got off,” Bill said.

“Oh, right,” Stan said. “I didn’t either, so…”

He never finished his sentence.

Bill was racking his brain for anything to talk about while they ate. In a group setting, it was easier to interact with Stan. But one-on-one was brutal. Things weren’t always this way. Only months ago Bill and Stan could’ve been chatting away about almost anything: movies, songs...girls. Bill would kill to talk about girls with Stan right now. 

“Have you gotten any more letters from Bev?” Stan asked.

Bill raised his eyebrows.

“Yeah, just last week. She wished me a merry Christmas in case she didn’t have time to wr-wr-write during the holidays.”

“She didn’t send any pictures too, did she?” Stan looked down as his cheeks went red.

Bill smirked.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, I-I don’t know,” Stan said. “I just thought that..you know, considering she has a reputation, and since you and her had a thing, that she may’ve...you know…”

He didn’t finish his sentence this time either. He didn’t need to, though.

Bill chuckled slightly.

“No, she didn’t send any p-p-pictures,” Bill said. “She’s really not that kind of girl.”

Stan shrugged. Bill got an idea.

“I think people only thought that way about her cause she was so p-p-pretty,” Bill said.

“She was _so _pretty,” Stan said, “I mean, that wasn’t all there was to her, but still.”

“I d-d-didn’t think you thought that way about her,” Bill said.

“Dude, any guy with eyes thinks that way about her,” Stan told him.

Bill couldn’t contain a surprised, almost hopeful laugh. 

“Hey, do you wanna meet up with the rest of the guys today?” He asked. 

“Yeah, sure…” Stan’s eyes suddenly zoned in on the napkin beside his cereal bowl. 

“S-s-stan?” Bill asked.

His friend snapped out of his trance, and turned his attention back to Bill.

“Yeah,” Stan said, “I’d love to meet up with everyone. I just have to do something first.”

“See Richie?” Bill asked.

Stan waited a moment.

“Yeah. Sure. Uh-huh.”

Stan got out of his chair, quickly brushed his teeth, and started to make his way out the door.

“I’ll meet you guys at three,” Stan said. “In front of the hospital?”

“How about at the q-q-quarry?” Bill said. “We can meet at our spot by the rocks. I feel like we haven’t b-b-been in a while, so it might be nice.”

Stan took a moment to think.

“Okay, sure,” Stan said, smiling a little. “Bye.”

“Bye,” Bill said, and as the door shut he sat back in his chair and smiled triumphantly. He had a plan now. One that would set everything right again. Things were going back to normal, to the way they were before Stan and Richie went and made things so awkward and complicated. Back when everything was almost perfect.

Don’t get him wrong: that point in time after the summer when everyone was getting over what happened was rough, but in a way, it brought everyone closer together. Every Loser was writing almost every day to Beverly, and taking the initiative to organize hangouts, and trying their best to make sure no one had to walk too far on their own at night. And while no, Bill could never completely replace the family he lost, the Losers Club made him feel that he was part of a new one. And now he had a plan to get that family back.

Reaching for the landline, Bill quickly dialed Eddie’s number, hoping to God the boy’s mom wouldn’t pick up.

“Hello?” Eddie asked.

“Eddie, it’s Bill,” Bill said. “Listen, I h-h-have an idea to set things back to normal.” He didn’t need to be specific. Eddie knew exactly what he was talking about. “You in?”

“Hell yes.” Eddie slammed the phone back down. 

“Wait- Eddie- I d-d-didn’t tell you anything yet-”

The line was dead.

A few seconds later the phone rang.

“Eddie?”

“Yeah sorry about that I got a little carried away. What’s the plan?”

…

Stan had made his way over to the hospital, not sure how to prepare himself for what awaited him. If he were just going to see Richie, things would be different. But the napkin at Bill’s read, _“Hospital NOW” _in a red liquid that was definitely not ketchup, which could only mean one thing: Pennywise had another lesson in store for him. Last night Stan would have been a little more open; after what happened with Richie and what happened with his father, he was having a hard time finding the hope in life, which made it easier to indulge his imaginary tormentor. But after his little talk with Bill he was feeling a bit better. Not completely better, not at all, but still: a bit better. His friends always made him feel that way. And he really didn’t feel the need for a reverse pep talk courtesy of the dancing clown right now.

Sure enough, by the time he got to Richie’s room Pennywise was sitting there waiting for him.

_"Morning, Stanley Boy,”_ It said, turning to face him. _"Sleep well over at Billy’s? Must’ve been nice for him to finally have another kid in the house again.”_

Pennywise stood from the chair and walked over to Richie, bending down to see him better. 

_"Hmmm, he doesn’t look too good,” _It remarked.

“Hey, get away from him...” Stan was on his way over to the bed when Pennywise flashed It’s glowing eyes right at him. He jumped back a little, his heart beating out of his chest, and tried his best to take a deep breath. 

_"You think I might hurt him, Stanley Boy?” _Pennywise growled, before shifting Its eyes downwards to see Richie lying in the bed. _"You think I might ask him to come down for some fun in the sewers? Make him float with Georgie and Betty and Patrick?”_

Stan fought to bring the air into his lungs as Pennywise drew Its outstretched fingers over Richie’s eyelids.

_"Now, Stanley,” _Pennywise started, moving away from the hospital bed. _"Ready for another lesson?”_

“Just get this over with.” Stan took a seat in one of the chairs. He eyed Richie, lying there so calm and peaceful and oblivious. He was the one person Stan had talked to about his hallucinations and nightmares. He was the safe place and warm voice to turn to when something like this happened. And now he was sick, and Stan had no idea when he’d get better. Or if, for that matter. Stan tried not to let that last part sink in too much.

_"You like being with your friends, don’t you?” _Pennywise asked.

“Yeah, of course,” Stan said. “They’re like family.”

_"That doesn’t really say much coming from you right now but I understand what you’re trying to say,” _Pennywise said. _"Do you think they like being with you?”_

“Yeah, of course,” Stan said. “I mean, I think so. Why else would they hang out with me?”

_"Force of habit, maybe,” _Pennywise said, when suddenly Stan noticed that a projector was sitting at the end of Richie’s bed. The clown shut the lights and began the presentation. At first, it was just a few pictures of the Losers Club hanging out, but soon enough each photo was taken sooner and sooner after the last one until eventually Stan realized that a memory of his was playing…

…

_Three months earlier_

Stan had his head propped up on his elbow as he played with some of the cafeteria’s leftover mac and cheese, the school’s designated dish for everyone unfortunate enough to be in the back of the lunch line.

“Hello? Hello? Stan?” Ben said.

Stan snapped out of his daze. “What?”

“You’re really not eating any more?” Ben said.

“No, you can have it,” Stan said.

“What? No, that’s not why I asked at all,” Ben said. “I’m actually kind of hurt by that.”

“Sorry,” Stan said, his voice as enthusiastic as a substitute teacher’s.

“Come on,” Bill said. “Just eat a b-b-bit more.”

“I don’t feel like it,” Stan muttered.

“Leave him alone, Bill,” Richie said. “You’re not his mom. Let him starve himself if he wants to. Least then we won’t have to put up with his moping anymore.”

Stan flashed him his middle finger, and stood up.

“I have to get some things from my locker,” He told his friends, before leaving the table and wandering around the cafeteria, while still making sure to stay within earshot of what his friends were saying.

“D-d-dick move, Richie,” Bill said.

“What? He’s fine,” Richie said. “Look at him. Plus we make fun of each other all the time. It would be weird if we didn’t.”

“You were just b-b-being mean to him,” Bill said.

Richie rolled his eyes.

“Fine. Would it make you feel better if I apologized?”

Bill and Ben both just stared at him, their eyes unimpressed.

“Say sorry? Suck his cock till he forgives me?”

There was staring.

“Explain how I’m not mad at him?”

There was more staring.

“Alright, fine,” Richie said. “I still think he’s being a bit dramatic…”

“Hey guys.”

Richie jumped, shut his eyes and plugged his ears. “Ah fuck holy fuck holy shit holy shitfuck!”

He opened his eyes to see Eddie standing behind him. 

And even more staring.

Richie flipped everyone off and walked over to Stan, who threw himself into the task of finding a way to look busy. “Hey, Stan.”

The boy turned to face his friend. “Oh, hey Richie.”

“Look, I still agree with everything I said, but you’re obviously upset so I’m gonna say sorry.”

“Okay.”

“Okay? That’s it?”

“What else do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know...that I don’t need to say anything cause you understand?”

Stan shrugged, and Richie sighed.

“You know Bill?” Richie asked.

“Course,” Stan said.

“Well the other day Eddie started yelling in his face cause he said he was stressed about an assignment we have to do. He said Bill was being a drama queen.”

“Wow, that doesn’t sound like Eddie,” Stan said, seeing through Richie instantly.“That doesn’t sound like Bill either. He never gets stressed about school. And where was I when this happened?”

“Probably in the bathroom or something,” Richie said. “Trying to see if your dick was really as small as you thought it was.”

“Sounds about right,” Stan said, smiling a little.

“Anyways, so it turns out Eddie was only being such an asshole cause that day he happened to also be super stressed out about the same project, and just thought he deserved to be more scared since he had actually been one of the first people to go inside the house.”

“House?” Stan asked.

“Gah fuck- library, I mean,” Richie said. “He thought he deserved to be more nervous since he had gone into the library first and...read more books and stuff.”

Stan nodded.

“I think that’s pretty brave of him to admit he was wrong,” he said.

“Yeah, totally,” Richie said. “But anyways, you get what I’m trying to say?”

“Uh-huh,” Stan said. “Eddie’s brave and you have no balls.”

Richie laughed, and high-fived his friend.

“We’re okay?” He asked.

“Yeah,” Stan said, hiding the hurt he couldn’t help but still feel. “We’re okay.”

…

The projector stopped as Stan turned to face the boy in bed. He had completely forgotten about that memory, and how hurt he was by what Richie had said. Now, months later, he had kissed him? _Multiple_ times? And cuddled almost every night for, what, about three weeks now? They'd even said they loved each other. At least the “Love you”s were nonchalant; the other stuff though...to call Richie a friend, let alone best friend and let alone boyfriend, was questionable. 

_"Do your Losers look like they enjoy being with you?” _Pennywise asked.

“That was just one time,” Stan said defensively. “Everyone acts like a douchebag sometimes. And Bill and Ben stood up for me.”

_"But they never disagreed.”_

Stan opened his mouth to protest, but stopped when he realized that was true. Neither one of them disagreed with what Richie was saying. Did that mean they were thinking the same things? He asked Pennywise to replay the memory, and noticed the expressions on Bill and Ben’s faces. They looked so fed up, so annoyed with Stan acting the way he was. And while it was true that Stan was also fed up and annoyed with the version of himself he was at that point in time, he had hoped his friends would’ve been a bit more sympathetic. They had no right to feel that way about him. Not when they had gone through the same things, not when they were his friends, and not when they had no fucking clue about what he did to himself because of how scared he was.

“What else do you wanna show me?” Stan asked.

_"Ooh, eager, are we?” _Pennywise turned the projector on again. Stan sighed and sat back, preparing for what came next…

...

Mike looked a little confused. “Trick Or Treating? I mean, it could be fun... I’m just not sure if that’s something thirteen-year olds really do, or if it’s more for little kids.”

“Little kids,” Richie said. “No one our age goes trick or treating.”

“I just think it might be f-f-fun,” Bill said. “And good for us t-t-too.”

Stan’s stomach dropped.

“Fun?” Eddie asked. “What’s supposed to be fun about walking all over town while sexual predators prowl the streets trying to lure us with candy into their vans? Not to mention everyone’ll be dressed in freaky costumes. I see where you’re coming from, Bill, but after this summer? I’d rather just stay home.”

“I just think it might help us m-m-move on,” Bill said, “and we’ll all be doing it together.”

There was a brief silence.

“I’m in,” Ben said. “It’ll be my first time in Derry.”

“I’m in too,” Mike said. “It’ll be my first time since my parents died.”

Everyone looked down at the floor.

“Oh sorry. I didn’t mean for things to take such a sharp turn like that.”

“It’s fine,” Eddie said, before sighing. “Okay, I’ll go. But I am inspecting each and every candy bar we get and I swear to God if any of you go anywhere near a guy in his forties asking us to help him find his dog I will kill you myself.”

“Stan?” Mike asked. “Are you coming?”

Stan wasn’t sure what his answer would be. “I-I-uh…”

“Come with us!” Ben said.

“Yeah, come on!” Eddie said.

“It won’t be the same without you,” Mike said. “Bill said we should all do it together.”

Stan sighed.

“I’m gonna sit this one out. Sorry guys.”

Everyone bowed their heads for a moment.

“That’s okay,” Bill said. “I g-g-get it.” 

“We’ll save you some candy if you want,” Ben said. 

“Sure, that’d be great.” 

They were disappointed. He knew they were. Mike had his head bowed, Eddie and Ben didn’t even look surprised, and Bill kind of looked like he wondered why he even bothered asking. And in that moment, Stan couldn’t help but feel out of place. Like he didn’t belong with them. Like he wasn’t a true member of the Losers Club. They were all so brave, so tough, and he was just a whining bitch. He really had no place in the group. Really, what exactly _did _he bring to the table?

“Well then, wanna hang out?” 

Stan looked up to see Richie.

“Seriously?” Stan asked.

“Yeah, sure,” Richie said. “I don’t wanna go Trick Or Treating cause I’m, you know, thirteen fucking years old and don’t need to prove to myself that I’m over what happened, so we can meet up if you want.”

Stan thought for a moment. He didn’t want to be alone that night, while all his other friends were out having fun. But that option was looking pretty good compared to the idea of being with the person who could turn on a dime and make him feel like shit. Then again, he was perfectly happy whenever he got the chance to jab back. 

“Swear you won’t be a dick?”

“Swear you’ll grow one?”

“Just in time to stick it in your mom.”

The two smiled as they shook hands.

…

_"Why exactly are you in that group, Stanley?” _Pennywise asked. _"The others, Billy, Bevvy, everyone else made me quiver in fear. You? Well, you did too, but only towards the very end. You were always the easiest target. Right from the beginning.”_

Stan looked down at the floor, pretending to have found some great meaning in its existence. In truth, he was just unable to look at anything else in the room anymore.

_"Your friends hate you, Stan,” _Pennywise said. _"Everyone does. In time, you’ll know it’s true. But until then, we’ve got one more fun little clip to show…”_

Stan rubbed his hands over his face, and looked up again…

...

Stan was going to be sick. He’d already almost thrown up in five or six garbage cans on the way over to the quarry; at least Richie held his head back every time. Richie. Richie, Richie, Richie. What a guy.

“So hey,” Richie started, interrupting a conversation comparing the Saturday morning cartoons everyone watched as kids. “Stan and I have something we kinda wanna tell you. I’m sure it’s way more interesting than whatever nerd shit you’re talking about.”

Stan reached for an asthma pump he didn’t have. It took him a moment to remember that was Eddie’s thing.

“Stan?” Richie turned to him. “Wanna take it away?”

Stan flipped him off, before facing the group.

“So the other night…” His voice was cracking, but he continued anyways. “...the other night Richie and I had gone to the movies. You know, to see _Back to the Future II_…”

“...no spoilers!” Eddie cried out, plugging his ears. “God, I still can’t believe you guys went without us...”

“...Eddie shut up he’s talking,” Richie said, and Stan could see that everyone had jumped back a bit. The other boy flashed his giant eyes back at him and mouthed, “You got this.”

Stan took a deep breath, and sighed.

“So we went to the movies,” He started. “And at one point...towards like, the end of the movie...we were sitting next to each other...I mean, of course we were sitting next to each other. There was no one else with us. But...we were next to each other, and we…”

He couldn’t keep speaking. The words just wouldn’t leave his lips. For a second, he thought he was hyperventilating.

“We...we…”

“...we made out.”

Stan turned to face Richie. 

“Yup. We made out. We’re dating now. Surprise!”

Mike raised his eyebrows. Ben furrowed his. Bill’s eyes widened. And Eddie started laughing.

“Pfft, yeah right guys,” He said. “No, come on, seriously. What happened that’s making you two act so weird?”

“I don’t think they’re joking.” Mike was trying to speak without moving his lips.

“What? Course they are,” Eddie said. “They’re our best friends. We’ve known them for so long. There’s no way they’re faggots…”

“...it’s true,” Stan said. “We kissed. I would say we made out, but it was quick and kinda rushed, so not really.”

“Yeah, true,” Richie said. “So we kissed.”

Bill was just stared on like the world was folding in on itself. 

“You’re serious?” Eddie asked.

“As serious as the look on Stan’s face when it was over,” Richie said, nudging his boyfriend with his elbow. “He looked like he was about to cry from how awesome I was.”

“Yeah, and you had these sad, pouty eyes,” Stan said. “Like you were just begging me to kiss you again.”

“What can I say? We were just that good,” Richie told his boyfriend.

“You guys kissed?!” Eddie exclaimed, standing up off the snowy rocks. 

“Cool,” Ben said, trying to sound as unfazed as possible.

“What, that’s it?” Mike asked, turning to the boy. “That’s your only reaction?”

“Well I’ve already been kind of exposed to stuff like this,” Ben explained. “A lot of great poets were into guys.”

“They were also writing bullshit no one gave a fuck about!” Eddie exclaimed, turning to the new couple. “Please, please tell me you two were careful. Was there tongue? Did you exchange saliva?”

“Yes, and yes.” Richie and Stan high-fived as if on cue.

“Oh fuuuuck,” Eddie said, covering his mouth with his hands. “You guys know there’s an AIDS epidemic going on right now? You do know that, don’t you?”

“We don’t have AIDS,” Stan said defensively. 

“Wait a minute…” Mike leaned forward. “All the time spent alone together...the constant hair touching and scalp roughing...the blushing...the shy smiles and giddy giggles…” His eyes widened. “How- how did we not see this sooner?”

“Are you okay with it?” Stan asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Mike said. “I mean, it’s not really our business. We’re still gonna be your friends, if that was ever even a question."

“I-I-I…” Eddie stammered, before starting to leave. “I need some time alone…”

Richie rolled his eyes, but thankfully kept his mouth shut.

“Wait…” Stan started. “Why are you making such a big deal out of it?”

“Oh, because this is all perfectly normal, right?” Eddie asked. “You know it’s not, or else you wouldn’t have freaked out so much about telling us.”

“Yeah, but I kinda thought it would be one of those things that gets me nervous but’s really nothing,” Stan said. “We’ve been through so much together. This can’t change how you think about us.”

“I-I-I need some time alone,” Eddie repeated, walking away. “I’ll call you guys...or no, my mom’ll have a heart attack if she overhears. I’ll just wait to see you guys tomorrow.”

He had an almost apologetic look on his face as he muttered his goodbye and left their circle.

Richie flashed his two middle fingers behind the boy's back, and nestled closer to Stan. He looked like he might explode, but when he turned to the boy next to him he managed a small and tired, yet unquestionably happy and sincere smile.

“He’ll come around,” Ben said.

“Give him the day, tops,” Mike said, patting Stan’s shoulder. “He’s just shocked, that’s all.”

Stan stared down at his lap, while Bill stood up to leave.

“I g-g-gotta g-g-go,” Bill said as he walked away, before turning briefly to say, “C-c-cong-g-gratulations.”

After a brief conversation about how long the couple had felt this way and what finally drove them to act on those feelings, Ben and Mike eventually trickled out too, leaving it to be just Stan and Richie, alone by the icy quarry.

“So that went well,” Richie said. “At least half of them were okay with it.”

“And Bev?” Stan asked. 

“She’ll be fine,” Richie said. “We just need to call her before the others do.”

Stan buried his head in his knees.

“Shit, this was a mistake, wasn’t it?”

“What? No,” Richie said. “Jesus Fuck, why are you even saying that?”

“We should’ve just kept our mouths shut or chalked it all up to the popcorn and soda and fucking clown trauma and Marty McFly and then we wouldn’t be in this position.”

“Stan, you think I regret what happened?”

“I think maybe you should.”

Richie laughed.

“What?” Stan asked, not being able to help smiling a little. His boyfriend was just really cute.

“I mean, I always knew you were a dumbass, but this is really taking things too far,” Richie said.

“Shut up,” Stan said as he shoved the boy playfully.

Richie shoved back and the two went at it until they were laughing and Richie was bringing the other boy closer until his head was resting on his shoulder. Stan squirmed a little, but settled down once he realized how great it felt to be pressed up against his boyfriend. They hadn’t really done this yet, at least not since their kiss. It was a little weird...but in a nice way. It just sort of felt right.

“We’re gonna be okay,” Richie told him. “You and me. Remember Halloween? ‘Still best friends’, right Stanley...”

He paused.

“...right, Stan?”

Stan looked up at him with furrowed brows, and then smiled softly. “Right.”

Richie’s expression changed, and Stan felt his own do the same, and before he knew it he was bringing his softly smiling lips to meet the other boy’s. He heard a noise and the two abruptly broke apart, but after they’d looked around to make sure the coast was clear, Richie planted a quick but more than pleasant peck on the boy’s lips.

“I gotta go,” Richie said, taking his friend's hand and squeezing it tight for a moment. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Stan’s cheeks burned so freaking much. “Cool.”

He slowly let his hand slip apart from the other boy’s as Richie walked away. Just as he was about to disappear into the snowy trees, he looked back, caught Stan’s gaze, and flashed a grin.

After that, Stan did nothing but smile for what felt like an eternity.

…

The projector slowly started to heat up, before the entire wall became covered with the image of burning film. Pennywise shut it off, and turned to face Stan.

_"Thoughts?” _

Stan could only stare.

_"It’s like I said,” _Pennywise started. _"You’ve worn them out. There isn’t a Loser left in your club that can stand being around you anymore.”_

For a second, Stan almost refused to believe any of this was happening. How could it? None of it made any sense. How was he getting all this insight on life from a bad dream?

_"You still haven’t figured it out yet, have you?” _Pennywise asked. _"The truth is, I’m not the real Pennywise, as you know. I’m you, actually. Or your thoughts, more like it. I’m your deepest, most hated, most paranoid thoughts that creep up on you in the middle of the night or just when you think your life’s turning out okay. Everything I show you, every truth I tell, is just your own hopes and fears and theories and predictions.” _The clown gestured to the projector, and chuckled. _“This is all you, Stanley Boy! You’re worried Beverly was wrong, and you weren’t in the vision she saw when she was floating? You think your friends hate you? That’s why I’m here. You’re not brave enough to think about this all by yourself, so your mind conjures up me to do it for you. So, when I say your friends all think you’re a whiny, useless little shit, it’s really you who’s thinking that. Probably because it’s true. And everyone knows it.”_

Stan turned his head so he could see Richie, lying in bed and so unaware of what he was going through.

“He doesn’t.”

_"Oh, really?” _Pennywise chuckled. _"Well look where that’s gotten him.”_

Stan stood from the chair and walked over to the clown, staring It down.

“You’re wrong,” He said. “My friends don’t hate me. We’re family. And I won’t shut them out just because my imaginary friend thinks I should kill myself.”

He sat back in his chair, and kept on watching over Richie, knowing how proud the boy would be of him once he woke up.

“Leave me alone,” Stan said to Pennywise. “I’m here for Richie, not you.”

Before even a full second could pass by, the clown had vanished. But Its voice remained for one last piece of advice:

_"Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Stanley Boy.”_

Stan felt the goosebumps on his skin and the chattering of his teeth against each other, but took a deep breath and soon felt fine. Well, as fine as you could be when you were visiting your boyfriend in a coma. 

“Hey, Richie,” Stan said to him. “So, remember how I kept seeing Pennywise in my dreams? Well it’s happening again. He’s trying to get me to…”

Stan stopped himself when he remembered that he still hadn’t told Richie about the razor.

“...anyways... I just really wish you were here right now. I’m supposed to meet the guys later today, and they’re great and all, but it’s just not the same without you. I miss you, dude. I miss it when you make fun of me and get me all riled up, and when you hold me nice and close and tell me I’ll be okay.”

Stan wiped a falling tear from his face, and cleared his throat.

“Our parents know about us, by the way. I ran away from home. I’m staying over at Bill’s, though, so it's not too bad. My dad hasn’t come looking for me yet. Honestly, I don’t know if I should be happy or hurt by that. Guess maybe both. I don’t know how your parents took the news, by the way. I haven’t seen them around here, so maybe not so great. I don’t know. I’d be so fucking pissed if they were okay with it and mine weren’t. I’d be pretty happy for you too, though.”

A moment later, Stan asked:

“Do you hate me, Richie?”

No response. Obviously.

“Stupid question, I know,” Stan said. “Do you think any of the Losers hate me? Do they ever say I’m whiny, and oversensitive, and useless? Or that I don’t really belong?”

Still nothing. Stan sighed.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe I’m just being paranoid. But there’s still something I’m not sure about. Why did Pennywise show me the day we told everyone about us? Bill and Eddie didn’t take it so well at first, but Ben, Mike and Bev were okay and now everything’s fine. They’re okay with us. Well, every now and then I have my doubts, but that’s just in my head. Like a lot of things, I guess…”

He suddenly heard a sound coming from outside the hallway. He poked his head through the door, and saw that Richie’s parents were heading towards his room.

“Fuck.” 

Stan ran to Richie’s side, gave him a quick kiss on the forehead, gagged at how sweaty it was, and dashed out. 

“I’m coming back,” He called. “See you tomorrow. Don’t miss me too much!”

And with that, he ran off straight to the nearest elevator.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inner Demons: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jt6rk6_ysKI
> 
> So just a head's up: chapter four should still be coming next week, but I'm probably also gonna post five shortly after. For six and seven I might switch back to weekly updates but I'm not sure yet. Also if you're thinking: wait, there's a chapter seven? Weren't there only supposed to be six? Well its cause I messed up the chapter list I'd made for myself so I thought there were six chapters but it turns out there's seven. I've updated the summary. So hopefully everyone reading this will see that as good news!  
Sincerely,  
Alex "This isn't related to It at all but Lil Nas X is an icon and we don't deserve him" M-M


	4. You Don't Know

Bill took a breath. As it turned out, explaining your master plan to everyone around you was pretty tiring.

“So, what do you guys think?”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Mike said. “Stan’s already freaking out thanks to everything going on with Richie. You really wanna add to that?”

“He’ll be fine,” Eddie said. “We’re doing it for his own good, anyways.”

“How is trying to talk him out of liking guys, ‘for his own good’?” Mike asked. “I’m sorry. I know you’re not _trying _to hurt him, but I really don’t think this is a good idea. Actually no: it’s a straight -up _bad _idea. A really, really, really _bad_ idea.”

“Well you’re outv-v-voted,” Bill said. “Eddie’s backing me up. Ben?”

“I’m with Mike,” Ben said. “Maybe you’re just trying to help him, but that’s not how he’s gonna see it.”

“What are you guys talking about?” A voice asked. 

The boys turned around to see Stan walking closer.

“Nothing much,” Mike said, turning to Bill and Eddie and flashing them a stern look. “Right, guys?”

“You sure?” Stan asked. “Cause it sounded pretty serious to me.”

“It’s nothing m-m-much,” Bill said. “We just wanted to t-t-talk to you.”

Stan furrowed his brows.

“Oh, really?” He asked, his voice cracking slightly. “About what?”

The rest of the Losers all exchanged glances with the boy next to them.

“Have a seat, Stan,” Eddie said.

Stan did as he was told, but there was something strange about the way he was acting. Even before Bill had brought anything up, he had this look in his eyes, different from the absent one, that made it seem almost like he was analyzing everyone. Like he was some really not-as-smooth-as-he-thought-he-was P.I who was sent to gather evidence on them. Like he had some theory he wanted to confirm.

“Stan, you know we’re all your f-f-friends, right?” Bill asked.

The boy bowed his head. “Yeah.” He sounded a little on the fence about his answer. “I’m gonna be honest, you guys are scaring me.”

“Exactly,” Ben said, “We’re scaring him, guys. And we shouldn’t because we know how _worried he is about Richie_.”

“Glad you mentioned him, Ben,” Eddie said, trying to make the segue and his attitude seem as natural as possible. “Cause it’s him we wanna talk about.”

Stan was starting to look pretty nervous.

“Ben, why don’t you explain it to him?” Eddie asked.

Bill rolled his eyes.

“I’m not even a part of this,” Ben said, before sighing.“But sure. So, you know how when people are addicted to drugs or drinking, their family and friends get them in a room and make speeches about why they’re hurting themselves in the long run? Well, this is kind of like that, but for you.”

“You think I’m addicted?” Stan asked. “To what?”

“It’s not that you’re ad-d-dicted,” Bill said. “It’s that you like Richie. And...we’ve got some things we’d like to s-s-say.”

“I made a speech,” Eddie said, standing up and pulling out a folded piece of paper from his pocket. He cleared his throat. “Dear Stan…”

“...wait, guys,” Stan started, looking around as if he were hoping to see that this was all some joke. “I don’t get it. I thought you were all okay with me and Richie.”

“We are,” Bill said, “We’d just be more okay if you were with a g-g-girl.”

Stan’s eyes grew dark and pensive, before becoming plastered to the floor for a few seconds. Finally, he got up.

“You’re all serious?” He asked, looking Bill and Eddie dead in their eyes.“Like, this isn’t some way of messing with me?”

The other boys shook their heads.

“I just…” Stan took a breath. “I’m not gonna do this.”

“Wait, what?” Bill asked.

“I’m not gonna just sit here and take this,” Stan told them.

“Hey, Mike and I weren’t apart of this!” Ben said defensively.

“Oh, nice,” Stan said, “So at least two of my friends don’t hate me.”

“We don’t hate you,” Bill said. “We w-w-want what’s best for you.”

“Yeah,” Eddie said. “That’s all we’re doing. Just hear us out, okay?”

Stan looked so angry that for some reason Bill thought he might burst out laughing.

“No, guys. Just no.”

…

Right then, Stan was all set to make his exit and flip them all off. He had turned and started walking away, but the only problem? He was still thinking about what his imaginary Pennywise was trying to tell him earlier. That his friends hated him. If he left them now, it would be all too easy for his paranoias and insecurities to gang up on him, and convince him that the clown was right all along. And there was no way that could possibly end well for him. Especially if there were sharp objects wherever he was planning on going. 

Stan took another deep breath. _Maybe there’s a reason why they’re doing this, _he thought. _Maybe they meant what they said, about wanting what’s best for me. And I know these guys. They’d never do anything to hurt me, would they? They could be doing this cause they’re my friends. _Turning around, he paused for a few seconds, and sat down. 

“Okay, fine. Tell me what you wanna tell me.”

“Stan, you don’t have to do this,” Mike said.

“Yeah, let’s just go somewhere else and do something fun,” Ben said. “They’ll join us whenever they’re ready to stop acting like assholes.”

“No, it’s fine,” Stan said, not able to help the passive aggressive tone in his voice. “I wanna hear what they have to say.” He looked up at Eddie. “Go ahead. I’m listening.”

Eddie cleared his throat, and read his message.

“Dear Stan, I’ve known you for so long, and until a few weeks ago, you’ve never mentioned anything about wanting to be with another guy. This whole, ‘gay’ thing came out of nowhere, and honestly, I really don’t think you know what it means to have a crush on someone.”

Bill nodded, as if his friend were saying all the things he’d been dying to for so long, and it made Stan just wanna punch him in the face.

“You were staring at Bev with the rest of us during the summer, you _and _Richie talk about finding girls hot all the time, and if you took a time machine and looked back at all our group hangouts, you and Richie never really had much one-on-one time. Your relationship came completely out of the blue, and frankly, I don’t even think it makes sense.” He seemed surprised when he ran out of writing to read. “Uh- thank you for listening.”

He folded the paper back up, and sat down.

Stan stared at the icy ground a little longer.

“But it _does _make sense,” Stan said. “To me it does. And to him too. We know how we feel about each other, or else we wouldn’t have kissed or made out or slept in the same bed for weeks now. And as far as the whole, ‘out-of-the-blue’ thing goes...I mean I was a little bit surprised, I guess, when I started feeling this way, and yeah, a bit of that was cause I liked another guy. But it was more cause I liked Richie.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m saying,” Eddie said. “You were surprised, I was surprised, fuck, Richie was probably surprised because none of it makes any sense.”

Stan dug his gloved nails into the snowy rock he was sitting on.

“But...no, no that’s not true! We..we love each other.” He hated how sappy and deluded those words sounded. They had a much nicer ring to them whenever they were exchanged casually between him and Richie in the middle of the night. Now, they just sounded helpless. And stupid. Even Bill rolled his eyes at them.

“Maybe that’s what you think, Stan,” Eddie said. “But I know you pretty well, and I’m pretty sure you’re just confused. It’s okay! Happens to the best of us. Just tell Richie you were wrong about him and I’m sure he’ll realize he was wrong about you too.”

There was silence for a few seconds, until Bill turned to Ben and Mike and asked “Got anything you w-w-wanna say?”

Mike shook his head. “Nothing from me.”

“Me neither,” Ben said.

For a second, Stan started to get a little bit pissed at them. If they weren’t gonna deliver a speech about why they thought their friend was confused, then why didn’t they at least come to his defense? Why couldn’t they make a speech about how they thought it was perfectly okay for Stan to be into a guy, instead of just sitting there? Sure, they offered to take him away. But that would’ve only delayed the inevitable. And it wasn’t exactly a sign of acceptance either.

“Can I g-g-go?” Bill asked.

Stan ushered him with his hand.

“I didn’t make a sp-sp-speech,” Bill said, staying seated. “I’ve just got some things to say to you.”

He took a deep breath, and Stan couldn’t help but find that infuriating. _He has no right to be nervous_, Stan thought. _He has no idea what this is like for me._

“Listen,” Bill started, “You’re one of my best friends, Stan. You always have been. But lately, I can’t help but feel like something’s wrong, and I know it’s because of you and Richie. You two are always off on your own, and it makes everyone else feel left out. And whenever either of you actually do talk to us, it’s only so long before you leave to spend time with each other. I get that you guys need some alone time, but what happened to us being a family? It’s like you’ve both just forgotten about that. Not to mention the way you act with each other. Richie’s always making one mean comment after another, and then you keep returning the favour until the both of you are just pissed at each other.”

_That’s not what we’re like, _Stan thought to himself. _Not at all. You just don’t get it._

“And what happens when you two break up? The whole group will have to chose sides, and it’ll just make things so awkward for everyone. For a while, I thought I’d just have to accept things as they were. But then today, you told me you found Beverly hot, and yesterday you didn’t even seem that worried about Richie, and I just knew that if I got you away from him, like you are now, we’d be able to talk some sense into you. There are _so _many girls in Derry, Stan. Try...I don’t know, someone at your synagogue. I know there aren’t that many Jews in Derry, but there’s gotta be someone for you. And you’d be able to talk about Jewish things with her too. Doesn’t that sound awesome? You’d be in a relationship with someone who actually cares about you. Not like Richie. He doesn’t care about you. I’m not sure what’s going on with him, or why he thinks he does, but he doesn’t. I know him. Like I know you. Last night you even told me you were scared of yourself but you didn’t know why. Maybe this is why. Maybe deep down you know Eddie and I are right, and that you’re not really in love with Richie, or into boys, or any of that stuff. Please, Stan. Just end things with Richie before either of you can get hurt, and then everything can go back to normal. Don’t you want that?”

Stan sat still for a moment, before finally looking up at Bill again. There was hope in the boy’s eyes.

“Normal,” Stan said. The word left his lips like a nail dipped in acid. “Normal. What exactly is normal to you, Bill?”

It was clear that Bill was starting to see that maybe his brilliant plan had a few weak spots.

“Us being f-f-friends.” He swore under his breath. His stutter was back. “All of us. Without c-c-couples.”

In that moment it was as if Richie’s spirit, his meanness, his snark, his quippy comments had left his comatose body and had jumped into Stan’s.

“Like you and Bev, you mean?” Stan asked.

Bill’s eyes went dark.

“N-n-no,” Bill said. “Not at all. We were n-n-never like that.”

“Oh, right,” Stan said, “Because nothing ever actually happened with you two.”

Mike winced with second-hand burn.

“I just think if we’re all being honest here I should do the same,” Stan said. “Because you didn’t seem so nun-like around her.”

“That was d-d-different,” Bill said. “That was before we all got this close. She’s moved away now. I couldn’t even be with her if I wanted to.”

Ben bowed his head.

“But if she were here you would, right?” Stan asked. “If she were here and she wanted to?”

  
“Th-that doesn’t have anything to do with this,” Bill said. “Stop changing the subject. This is about you and Richie and why you need to end w-w-whatever it is you two have.”

“When he wakes up, you mean,” Stan added, before looking across at the boy. “Because that’s why you guys waited until now to tell me this, right?”

Stan laughed bitterly. _Pennywise was right_, he thought to himself. _It’s always been right._

“Look, Stan, don’t take this so p-p-personal,” Bill said. “This isn’t really about you. It’s just about what you do.”

“I would though, wouldn't I?” Stan asked. “Take it personal. Because I’m just that whiny, right?”

“What? No, that’s not what this is we’re s-s-saying...” Bill said.

“...because I’m just that oversensitive, and useless, and tacked on to the rest of you?” Stan asked. “Huh?”

“Stan, where’s this coming from?” Mike asked.

“You guys,” Stan told him. “This is all coming from you guys. You hate me. You hate that I’m a whining, nervous piece of shit, who can’t be as brave as any of you, and a _fucking faggot _on top of all that, don’t you?”

He was shouting now.

“Hey, take it easy,” Ben said, trying to pat him on the shoulder.

“God, you’re not even fucking denying it!” Stan said, swatting him away. “I’m right, aren’t I? If not about the gay part, then about the rest.”

Every other Loser just looked up awkwardly.

“Look we all have...character flaws,” Mike said. “But we’re friends, and we look past them.”

“Like Bill looked past me being in love with a boy?” Stan asked. 

“You’re taking this the wrong way…” Bill started.

“No, you’re just not listening to yourself,” Stan said, flipping him off. “Fuck you.” He stood up from the rocks, and took the time to flash his middle finger to each and everyone there. “Fuck you, and fuck you, and fuck you and fuck you.”

He stormed away angrily, ignoring the calls of his friends. Well, that last word wasn’t exactly appropriate anymore.

“Wait, Stan, c-c-come back!” Bill shouted.

“What the fuck just happened?” Eddie shouted. “You went fucking nuclear!”

Stan could feel tears pouring down his cheeks, the cold air burning them into his skin. He walked until he was sure the other boys weren’t following him, and then sat down by the nearest tree, burying his head in his hands as he cried. 

“You were right,” Stan said aloud, but the clown wasn’t there. “You’ve always been right.”

He wasn’t sure why exactly he was crying. Probably because he just lost all of his friends, all the people who were supposed to be his family. Maybe because he was stressing about where he would sleep that night, since neither his house or Bill’s were a valid option anymore. But in a way, he wasn’t crying because of what the Losers had said to him. He was crying because he knew it was all true. He didn’t help out that much when Pennywise terrorized his friends. He wasn’t one of the first to go into Neibolt the day they encountered the clown, and when he finally did the second time he got picked off first. He was always the most doubtful that anything out of the ordinary was going on, he was the first one to yell at Bill after Eddie and Ben were attacked, and in the end, when he finally did manage to help, he was just one out of seven kids who were ganging up on the clown. He did nothing special. He’d never done anything special. Probably because he _was_ nothing special. Just a useless whiny waste of space. And definitely no one’s favourite. 

Bringing his head up, he felt the cold bite and stab away at his teary eyes, but still exposed his arm to the frigid air so he could take a look at his scars. He traced each one, remembering the pain and comfort the razor had brought to him, and longed for that feeling again. Once he got down to thinking about it, he longed for any feeling again. Any feeling other than what he was already feeling.

He waited until after the sun was set to make his way out of the forest, the darkness of the sky and lack of perfect boyfriend at his side wrenching his gut. Nevertheless, he powered through until he had arrived at the hospital, where he used some of the little money he happened to have in his pocket when he ran away to gorge on candy bars from the vending machines. And that was his dinner: Blue Raspberry Airheads, Reese’s Pieces, and a bag of chips that were too salty. Normally, he’d be more than okay with eating so much junk food. But the bitterness of knowing they were the only thing he could afford ruined any enjoyment he may have felt. It wasn’t exactly a satiating meal either; even after eating, his stomach still ached with hunger.

Stan had to wonder how long he could keep this up for. It’s not like he could spend every day running away from his parents, or every night at the hospital living off junk food until his money ran out. He tried not to worry too much about that as he sat down in one of the waiting chairs inside Richie’s room, nestling into it as he draped his coat over himself like a blanket. The lining was comfortable, which almost made up for the fact that it wasn’t all that warm.

“Goodnight, Richie.” Before he blacked out from exhaustion, he reopened his eyes just so he could look at his sleeping boyfriend and say: 

“Please wake up soon. I don’t know how much longer I can hold on for.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You Don't Know by Katelyn Tarver: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BF-nZziUCCY
> 
> I've split up some of the remaining chapters, so now there's nine in total. Chapters Five and Six are coming as soon as I can upload them. 
> 
> Sincerely,  
Alex M-M


	5. you wrote "don't forget" on your arm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wishing everyone a happy and safe Yom Kippur,  
Alex M-M

He awoke in the middle of the night, his head groggy and a terrible taste in his mouth, one that made him feel like his sole purpose in life was to find a way to brush his teeth. But he couldn’t. Because he was homeless. Slowly getting out of his chair, he walked over to Richie and inspected him. The boy didn’t look any better. His skin was still clammy and pale, a trail of snot had started to pour from his nose, and then of course there was the indisputable fact that he was in a freaking coma.

In that moment, it suddenly dawned on Stan that he still didn’t know what Richie had. Neither did the doctors, or the boy’s parents, but at least they had more information. All Stan knew was that it wasn’t contagious. Which is part of why he didn’t hesitate to sit down on his knees, grab a fistful of Richie’s hospital gown, and use it to drag himself closer and closer until his head was on the boy’s chest. He breathed deeply, letting his shaking hands fall over Richie’s body. And as he closed his eyes, he couldn’t help but think about how, when a person was sleeping, they were peaceful. They didn’t feel pain, or misery, or anything really. And while some thought that was terrifying and tragic, Stan suddenly found it beautiful. And he envied it. He envied the emptiness you felt when you weren’t awake. When you weren’t able to be hurt by people you thought were your friends. Or worry about an evil clown coming to kill you in twenty-seven years. 

In that moment, Stan had to remember the last time he had spent so much energy on contemplating suicide. Obviously, there was that time when he held the razor to his wrist and almost went through with it, but besides that, it was probably the third night of Chanukah, when he was slicing himself up in his dreams. But he stopped then, because he remembered what it meant to feel alive. How it was a balance of good and bad, and how you had to learn to truly live if you ever wanted to be happy. 

And that’s when Stan realized something: all of Pennywise’s lessons so far were attacks on his reasons for being alive. He said that life was a balance of joy and fear and sadness; Pennywise was making him believe only those last two emotions were ruling his life. He thought that he had to stay alive and find a way to move on, because he was missing out on enjoying time with his friends; Pennywise was telling him he had no friends, and that everyone hated him. Richie told him he would always be there for him; Pennywise waited until the boy was taken out of the equation to make Its points.

By the time Stan finally opened his eyes, he noticed a few things: one, Pennywise was standing at the other end of the room, waving at him, and two, he was suddenly a dead body. Jumping up from shock, Stan looked down at himself, and could see his sickly pale, almost light-grey tinted skin, and the patches of it that had been torn off to reveal decomposing tissue. He could feel the bloodshot in his eyes, and the worms crawling around in various parts of his rotting flesh. And of course, he had a bright red slit in each of his wrists, where blood was somehow still trailing out, like water from a tap that wasn’t turned off all the way. 

_ “Time for the final lesson, Stanley,” _ Pennywise said. _ “One you’ve known all this time: being alive is overrated. All that mush you once worshipped about feeling love and joy and the balance of things was all wrong. Life is pain for you. That’s what it’s always been for you. But now, you don’t feel pain, do you?” _

Stan opened his mouth to speak, but found that the words just wouldn’t come out. And it wasn’t because his corpse couldn’t speak; it was because he couldn’t deny what the clown had said. There was something reassuring to him about being dead. He knew he couldn’t be hurt anymore. He couldn’t feel the aching in his stomach from missing Richie, or the fear of being a sitting duck just waiting for Pennywise (the real one) to devour him in twenty-seven years, or even the pull of needing things to be perfect. He didn’t feel the sting in his heart from being told by his friends that he should stop being with the boy he loved because he was just confused and making things complicated for everyone, or the hurt from knowing how none of them thought there was a drop of bravery inside him, or the shame of knowing there actually wasn’t. But he did feel something. And it wasn’t happiness. It definitely wasn’t happiness. Being alive meant feeling everything. Being dead meant feeling emptiness. And maybe that wasn’t so bad. No, he wasn’t happy. But he was peaceful.

_ “Isn’t this nice?” _ Pennywise asked. _ “It’s all yours, Stanley Boy. But I can’t give it to you. Only you can.” _

Stan felt a change come over him, one that made him sick to his stomach. He hunched over and gagged, until he spat out a pile of squirming worms, still feasting on chunks of his decomposed brains.

_ “What was it you said once?” _ Pennywise asked. _ “Being alive is feeling everything? Well here you go!” _

The clown chuckled to Itself, before a rush of emotions suddenly started to take ahold of Stan. Looking down at himself, he saw that he was slowly coming back to life. Colour returned to his skin as it healed over, and his eyes were losing their rigid, reddened feeling. But it was his mind that took on the most changes. He was feeling again. 

“No!” He cried out, dropping to his knees as his body continued to heal. “No, no, please stop!”

And just like that it was all too much. His head snapped back as his jaw dropped completely, allowing him to scream at the top of his lungs to try and bring him some relief. But it wasn’t working. He was still hit with so much sadness, so much pain. His friends hated him. They couldn’t stand being around him. They were supposed to be his family and they were supposed to be there for him when he was feeling hopeless, but they were all liars, nothing more. They didn’t care about him. And neither did his parents. They let him run away, and never once tried to find him, probably because they couldn’t stand the idea of their son being a goddamn queer who went behind their backs to spend nights alone with another goddamn queer. Oh, and speaking of that other boy, there was Richie. But even he didn’t care about Stan. Bill was right. He was so unbelievably mean to him sometimes. He called him a pussy, and made fun of him for being Jewish, and was constantly undermining him. _ “Not every fuckin plant is poison ivy, Stanley!” _ He said that day at the barrens. Stan didn’t know why, but right then, that comment in particular hurt. He hadn’t even thought about the jab since that day, but suddenly it was the most hurtful thing he’d ever heard. He never liked the mean comments. The playful banter was never playful to him. It was always one-sided. Stan only ever fought back as a way to protect himself. A part of him knew that was all lies. A part of him knew that, in fact, he loved the joking around, and the rude comebacks, and that Richie really did care about him. And that, in their own way, so did his friends and parents. But that part of him wasn’t strong enough, and it wasn’t at all in control as his snapped-back head screamed until it almost exploded from from pressure. 

_ “Not every fuckin plant is poison ivy, Stanley!” _

_ “We’d just be more okay if you with a g-g-girl.” _

_ “I'll take all of you! I'll feast on your flesh as I feed on your fear…” _

_ “...you need to man up, because you’re acting like a fucking pussy.” _

_ “Look, we all have...character flaws.” _

_ “Come join the clown.” _

_ “Not every fuckin plant is poison ivy, Stanley!” _

_ “Not every fuckin plant is poison ivy, Stanley!” _

_ “Not every fuckin plant is poison ivy, Stanley!” _

_ “We all float down here…” _

Stan collapsed onto the hospital floor, gasping for breath and feeling like his heart might burst and pour out his nostrils. 

“No please!” He cried, tears in his eyes as his voice broke down completely. “Please change me back! I don’t want this! I don’t wanna feel anymore, I don’t wanna feel anything anymore…”

He sobbed into the floor, repeating those words over and over again until a nurse showed up at the door.

“Excuse me?” She asked. “Are you alright?”

Stan practically jumped off the ground and ran straight past her. He knew where he had to go. And what he had to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you wrote "don't forget" on your arm- flatsound: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8wE8eOCMu7A
> 
> This song is one of those cases where it's more of the overall mood and not so much the lyrics that reflect the chapter. But the ending is literally what Stan is feeling by the end of this chapter, so when I was thinking of a song for the title, I definitely had to go with this one. On another note, I know I said this chapter would be up soon, but school got in the way so it had to wait a bit. Sorry about that. But chapter 6 is going to be coming very soon. 
> 
> Sincerely,  
Alex M-M


	6. Let My Baby Stay

The conversation when he got home wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be. He knew he wouldn’t actually need to listen to anything his father told him. The rules of living in his house were simple: one, he had to find new friends to hang out with. If he saw anyone from his former circle in the hallways he’d look straight ahead and keep walking, and if he was ever paired with any of them for a project, he’d tell his parents immediately so they could call and arrange otherwise. Two, he was grounded for the rest of the Winter break. No walks outside, no trips to the movies or the arcade. Nothing. And then of course, three didn’t even need to be said. It was clear that he was never again allowed to see Richie. Or sneak up to the caretaker’s flat with a boy. 

“Now, Stanley, do we understand each other?” His father asked.

Stan nodded. “Yes.”

“Good. Now go clean yourself up.”

Stan felt like smirking, but his lips weren’t able to. _ Go clean yourself up, _his father had said. That was exactly what Stan was going to ask if he could do. Because where there were bathrooms, there were sinks. And where there were sinks, there was shaving cream. And where there was shaving cream, there was…

Stan walked up the stairs to his bathroom and shut the door, making sure to lock it. He didn’t want either of his parents walking in on what he was about to do. It wasn’t going to be a pretty sight, and he wanted to make sure he was long gone before they had to see it. They would see it eventually, though. And his friends would hear about it, eventually.

But they were the friends that didn’t care about him, that hated everything about him, from his nervousness to his complaining to his liking boys to him being Jewish (yeah, he had added being Jewish to the list, since he was always sure they didn’t appreciate that part of him very much). And when they’d hear about it, they would probably jump up and down knowing they wouldn’t have to put up with their least favourite member of the group anymore.

Taking the razor from the medicine cabinet, Stan turned on the tap, took off his clothes, and once the tub was filled and the water was warm he made his way inside. Lying down, he couldn’t help but be reminded of the last time he had crawled into a bathtub like this; it was when he decided to fall asleep just to face Pennywise one last time, so he could move on and live his life. Now here he was, crawling into a different tub with the completely opposite goal: to give up. 

He shut off the water and brought his attention back to the razor, his hand slowly bringing it closer and closer to his skin. He took a deep breath. So this was it. This was how he was going to die. Richie, the Losers, his parents, even Pennywise wouldn’t mean anything in a few minutes time. Nothing would. 

“Pennywise,” He started, “Mom. Dad. Bill. Eddie. Mike. Ben. Ri-”

The name fought its way to the back of his throat. _ Not him, _ Stan thought to himself. _ Leave him out of this. _

Taking one last deep breath, Stan started over:

“Pennywise. Mom. Dad. Bill. Eddie. Mike. Ben. This is what you made me do.”

He shut his eyes and pressed the blade to his wrist.

He felt nothing.

Opening his eyes, Stan looked down at himself. The razor was touching his skin, yes, but it hadn’t broken it. He didn’t press hard enough. Not even close.

“Fuck this is gonna hurt, right?” He took a moment to think and started looking around, until suddenly he eyed the medicine cabinet. _ My mom’s sleeping pills _ , he thought, _ a few too many of those will do the trick. _ Getting out of the tub, Stan walked over to the cabinet, placed the razor back in, and took out the bottle. He thought for a moment. _ She’s only supposed to take one, _ he thought, _ so like three should do the trick. That’s more than you’re supposed to take. _He shook out three pills, filled a styrofoam cup with water, and chugged the meds in one gulp. 

“There. That should do it.”

Crawling back into the tub, he stretched himself out. If he was going to die, he may as well die comfortably. He took a deep breath, and started to feel himself getting drowsy. 

“Shit these work fast,” Stan said. “Guess I have to fall asleep first and then overdose. Sounds okay to me.”

Letting his eyelids slip over the world around him, he nestled into the tub, and slowly drifted off.

Stan awoke with a jar, his whole body sitting up as he caught his breath. 

“I did it,” He said to himself. “I killed myself.” He took a moment to process everything. “I actually did it. I’m dead.”

But somehow, he didn’t feel like he was. It didn’t seem real. Besides, he couldn’t be dead. He’d been alive for so long, and now after a few seconds he was just dead? 

He took a look at where he had found himself. The world he saw was made up of tunnels, dark, damp ones, and the ground beneath him was wet. The whole place reeked of garbage, and there was someone waiting for him at the end of a shadowy path. Someone small, but definitely younger than him or the other Losers. Someone wearing blue jeans, dark green boots, and a yellow raincoat.

“Oh fuck I’m not dead I’m in a fucking nightmare again, aren’t I?”

“Hi, Stanley,” Georgie said, walking closer to him. “Wanna come sail my boat with me?”

“Just stop,” Stan said. “Okay? Just stop. God, all I wanted was to die in peace, and now the last fucking thing I’ll ever know is another fucking nightmare.”

“You know you really shouldn’t swear in front of little kids,” Georgie said. “And what would you rather be doing? It’s not like you have any friends.”

Stan cocked his head, and took a moment to think. _ If it were up to me, _ he thought, _ and only up to me, how would I have spent my last moments alive? _

“Richie. I’d rather be with Richie than in a nightmare.”

“Oh, well let me take you to him.” Georgie turned around and starting to walk to the other end of the tunnel. “Come on, you haven’t got much time.”

Stan ran after the boy until he was side by side with him.

“What do you mean, ‘I haven’t got much time’?” Stan asked. 

“You know what I mean,” Georgie said, taking the time to playfully splash around in the water. “You took all those pills. It was too much. You’re gonna die soon.”

“Oh. Right.” 

A part of him still couldn’t believe that had actually happened. Couldn’t believe he was actually overdosing as he slept. Couldn’t believe he was actually never going to see his friends or parents again. Or even Gretta and her goons. It was starting to hit him that he was never going to see anyone again. Except Richie. Well, in his dream. But the boy was going to be the last thing he saw before the drugs took their effect and extinguished his life. And he was fine with that...the Richie part, at least. The death part? Well, he still couldn’t quite believe it was actually happening.

“So why do you wanna see this guy again?” Georgie asked. “I thought he didn’t love you.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Stan said, now also kicking his feet through the water; he figured he may as well make the most out of what time he had left, even if it was just in a dream. “I guess because I loved him. And plus we did have fun, when it was just the two of us.”

“Loved?” Georgie stopped and turned to face him.

Stan stopped splashing, and sighed. 

“Love, I guess.”

Back in the bathroom of his home, there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that Richie never really cared about him. But now that was harder to believe. Why would Richie have gone through so much trouble sneaking around with him if he was only in it to make Stan miserable? He could’ve done that during group hangouts. Plus, he and Stan had always been best friends, even before they started seeing each other that way. And Richie was the only one who showed up to his bar mitzvah. If that wasn’t true love, what was?

“Yeah,” Stan said. “I guess I love him. But he hasn’t been getting better, and I can’t take another day without him.”

“Jeesh, Romeo,” Georgie said. “You’ve only been dating for a few weeks.”

“No, I mean I can’t take another day without him because everyone else in my life is making it miserable,” Stan said. “Not cause I miss him.”

“Huh.” Georgie turned and continued leading the way. “Is my brother one of those people making your life suck so much?”

“ Yeah,” Stan said. “He tried to talk me out of liking boys. You should’ve heard the way he spoke to me. Like he knew me better than I know myself. Like I’m just confused, and not actually in love with Richie. Eddie too. And Mike and Ben weren’t exactly coming to my defense. They just sat the whole conversation out. Mike even admitted that I’m whiny and useless and out of place.”

“Are you sure that’s what he meant?” Georgie said. “Because maybe he was just trying to say you can be annoying sometimes, but that you’re still his friend no matter what. Isn’t that kind of nice?”

Stan took a moment to think. The kid had a point.

“Yeah, I guess it is,” Stan said. “But still: he and Mike didn’t even defend me when Bill and Eddie did what they did.”

“Come on, give them a break!” Georgie said. “This whole, ‘boys liking boys’ thing is still new to them. You can’t actually blame them for still finding it a bit unusual. They’re trying to learn and be better and be supportive of you. That’s gotta count for something, no?”

Stan was starting to get a little panicked. Maybe his reasons for taking the pills weren’t as solid as he thought they were. Which scared him. He’d already fallen asleep from the overdose. He didn’t have much longer to live now.

“Okay, well what about Bill and Eddie?” Stan asked. “There’s no excuse for what they did.”

“They’re also getting used to things,” Georgie said. “With Eddie, he just said what he said cause he doesn’t know any better. He’ll come around eventually. And with Billy, he’s just doing what he thinks he should to keep his family together. He’s already lost one. Everything he’s done to you has all been about making sure the Losers Club doesn’t go their separate ways.”

Stan smirked a little. He had a reason that Georgie couldn’t debunk now.

“_ Their _ separate ways. Not _ your _.”

”Huh?” Georgie asked.

“You talk about the Losers Club like I’m not one of them,” Stan said. “Because I’m not. I bring nothing to the table. They’re probably better off without me.”

“Not true and you know it,” Georgie said. “You do add something. It may not be as noticeable or fun like being the leader or the trashmouth, but it’s something. And without it your friends might get into more trouble than they can handle.”

“Well what is it?” Stan asked. “What’s my role?”

“I can’t tell you,” Georgie said. “Not the one you’ve got right now. I can tell you the one you _ will _have, though.”

“What?”

“The dead one.”

Georgie stopped walking, and Stan did the same. They had arrived at the end of the tunnel. Now, they were in Pennywise’s lair, with the mounds of toys and circus artifacts and oven-like dance box and floating dead children.

“Here we are.” When Stan turned to face Georgie, he was gone.

“Stanley?” A voice called. It was a familiar voice. And the only one except his father who often called him by his full name. Not always, but on certain occasions. It was a nice voice. One he had gone too long without hearing.

“Richie,” Stan said, running across the lair until he saw his boyfriend standing a few meters in front of him. He took a moment to take in the sight of him. He was healthy, his skin no longer sickly pale and not a trace of snot anywhere on him. He was wearing the blue palm tree button-up top over his plain white shirt, and of course his thick black glasses.

“Stanley!” Richie said as he ran to him, wrapping his arms around the boy as soon as the two reached each other. Stan grabbed a fistful of his shirt and held on tightly, burying his head in his shoulders.

“I missed you, Stan,” Richie said. “I woke up and you weren’t there. You said you’d be there for me when I woke up. You promised.”

“I know, I know, I know I did,” Stan said. “I’m sorry. Everything was happening all at once and it was too much for me to handle. I couldn’t take it.”

That was a lie. The first part, not the last one. The part about him knowing he had promised Richie he’d be there when he woke up. Well, he did know; he had just forgotten. He had just completely forgotten. You don’t really remember the little things like that when you’re feeling the way Stan was.

“I love you, Stan.”

“Yeah, I love you…”

He took a pause, and then broke apart from the boy.

“You’re not real.”

“Course I’m not fuckin real, dipshit. I would’ve flipped you off the moment I saw you.”

“So why are you here then?”  
“Because you wanna fuckin’ see me, that’s why. You’re dying and you wanna see me before you go.”

Stan breathed deeply, and sighed. Richie was standing across from him, shaking his head.

“I have to, don’t I?” Stan asked. “I have to die, I mean.”

“That’s kinda how it works when you kill yourself.”

“No, I mean there’s no way to…” Stan took a moment to think. He was dying. Right now. And it was what he wanted. Being alive meant feeling everything, yes, but everything was too much. He was finally going to be at peace. 

“...stop it, right?” Richie asked. “You wanna know if there’s a way to stop you from dying?”

“Yeah.”

“Well it would help to know if that’s what you actually want. Is it?”

“I don’t know if it is, okay?”

“Well you’re gonna have to make up your fuckin mind because you’re running out of time..”

“Yes it’s what I want!” Stan cried out. What he said next didn’t even feel real. It didn’t feel like he, Stanley Uris, was the one saying it. But somehow, it did. “It’s always been what I want, okay? I never wanted to die!”

His voice echoed throughout the sewers. 

“Not when I cut myself, not when I held the razor to my wrist, not when I couldn’t stop dreaming about Pennywise or when my dad threw me out of the house or when I thought all my friends hated me or any other fucking time, okay? I never wanted to die!”  
That felt good to say. _ The truth _felt good to say.

“I’ve never wanted to fucking die!” Stan cried out, his face red as tears welled in his eyes. A brief echo traveled through the sewers, giving Stan the time he needed to catch his breath. “I just wanted the pain to go away.”

No echo. Just silence.

_ “Well then tip tip and telly-oh, my good fellow!” _ Richie called with a clap, his British Guy™ voice in full swing. _ “We’ve got work to do!” _

“Wait, what?” Stan asked.

“You said it yourself: you don’t wanna die,” Richie told him, now pacing in circles around the boy. “So let’s make sure you don’t.”

“Okay, but how?” Stan asked. 

“We need to get you to wake up,” Richie said, still circling him. “When you wake up you can make yourself throw up all the pills before they finish dissolving. Think: what usually wakes you up from a dream?”

Stan didn’t even need a moment to think this time.

“Clowns. Or painted women with flutes. Or MISSING posters with your face on it. Any of those can do the trick.”

“Okay, so let’s go find one of those!” Richie said, staying in front of him. “This is your dream. You have the control, here, so just take it back.”

“Right, right, take it back,” Stan said, shutting his eyes. _ Painted lady, painted lady, painted lady… _

He opened his eyes and found himself back in the tunnels, greywater up to his waist. He turned just in time to see the painted woman charging at him, her mouth wide and filled with sharp teeth as his vision was swallowed. He screamed and yelled as his cheeks were sliced painfully for what felt like five whole minutes until the demon eventually let him go and scurried away into the darkness. He took in a gulp of air and coughed, until he saw Richie running up to him.

“You waking up yet?”

“I’m still here so no, Richie, I’m not waking up yet!” 

“Alright, alright, so what’s the plan?”.

“We checked off one from my list. We’ve got two more to go.”

“Great,” Richie said, before pointing to something behind Stan. “Oh, look out! Evil clown demon at twelve o’clock!”

Stan turned around to see Pennywise running out of the water towards him, Its head moving from side to side as It screamed. The clown rammed Stan into the water and let Its bloody teeth bore into his flesh, followed by a surge of pain as the boy was eaten alive. Unfortunately, even that wasn’t enough to wake him up. 

“This isn’t working,” Stan said as he came up from the water, his body fully healed from the clown’s feast.“This isn’t fucking working and I’m fucking running out of time.” 

“We’ve still got one more,” Richie said, pulling a knife from his pocket before jamming it into his face. He pulled the blade down and up and down and up again, each time getting faster and faster until his cheeks, nose, ears, hair, eyes, and the rest of his defining facial features sliced off his face and plunged into the graywater. Richie (or what was left of him, more like it) dove down, stayed below for a few seconds, and then came back up with a giant MISSING poster. 

Stan actually laughed at that.

“Why are you laughing?” Richie’s voice asked from the poster. “This is supposed to be terrifying.”

“These past few days have been the missing poster,’ Stan said. “I was scared of losing you and I did. Richie, nothing scary’s gonna wake me up because I’m already terrified of dying and never seeing you or any of the Losers ever again. I’m scared enough.”

The dream world suddenly boomed.

“What the fuck? What’s happening?” Richie’s voice asked.

Stan sighed. 

“Time’s up.”

He closed his eyes, unable to look at the faceless boy in front of him or the poster any longer. Now, all he saw was darkness. “We’re too late.”

“Well fine,” Richie’s voice called against the never-ending shadows. “So you’re dying. But you’ve still got a minute or two left before the pills really kick in. How do you wanna spend it?”

Stan thought for a moment. There was so much he wanted to do with Richie, to say to Richie. But the real Richie, not this one. And the real Richie was in the real world. And he was alive. In all senses of the word. When he woke up, he was going to be alive.

“Just pretend I’m him,” Richie’s voice called. “What do you wanna do, Stanley?”

He said the first thing that came to mind. “I wanna dance with you like the boy and girl couples do.”

And so the infinite dark transformed into a gymnasium, all dressed in cheap lights, banners, and other typical lame school dance decorations. Stan looked down at himself. He was wearing a nice suit, not too fancy, but just enough to wow everyone there. Well, only for a few seconds before they turned back to whatever they were doing. Even in his dreams Stan wasn’t really seen. And it was fine. Because his friends saw him. Ben was there with Mike and Eddie, and the three were dancing goofily with each other while the music played loudly. They all turned and waved to Stan, and although in the context of the scene he knew it was to say hi, Stan knew that for him, it was the last time he was ever going to see them. He looked beside the group and saw Bill, with his arms wrapped around...Beverly! She was there too! She gave Stan a big wave hello, while Bill called, “Hey, S-s-stan! Richie’s ready for you!”

Looking in front of him, Stan could see his boyfriend standing there, wearing the same light blue suit he wore to Stan’s bar mitzvah, his glasses perfectly highlighting his eyes. Stan loved Richie’s eyes. Fuck, he was gonna miss Richie’s eyes. And his laugh, and his smile, and his hair and his voice and his jokes and his rude comments and every single thing about him.

Stan looked around and saw that it was just the Losers Club in the gym now. No one else. People were disappearing. And only he noticed.

“Oh God this is it,” Stan said to himself, his eyes teary.“It’s happening. They’re kicking in. I’m dying.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Richie said, “Focus on me. Only me. Pretend I’m him. Pretend I’m your Richie.”

“Okay,” Stan said. “Okay.”

He wrapped his arms around Richie’s waist and pulled him closer, not giving a fuck about who saw him or what they would say or if they would accept him or throw him out of their homes. And then they danced, trying not to step on each others’ toes, but chuckling softly when they did. 

Stan looked around and saw that the Losers were gone. It was just him, now. Just him and Richie, alone, and dancing. Dancing like the boy and girl couples do.

“I don’t…” Stan started, but his voice broke down before he could finish, which pissed him off because he was fucking dying and his own fucking dream couldn’t give him this one last moment of being able to speak. “...I don’t wanna die, Richie. I don’t- I don’t wanna die. I never did. I never wanted this. I never wanted to leave you, Richie, I never wanted to leave you…”

He buried his head into the boy’s shoulder and sobbed uncontrollably.

“I never- I never- I never wanted to leave you Richie…”

Tears poured from his eyes until he could feel the fabric of his boyfriend’s blazer getting damp. 

“I never- I never- I never wanted to die…” 

The music had stopped playing in the background.

“Please don’t let me die,” He said. “Please, please don’t let me die Richie- I wanna see you again- I need to see you again- because I…”

He suddenly found himself having to support his own body weight. 

“...because I…”

He waved his hands, and nothing was in front of him. 

“...because I…” 

He took in one last breath for his collapsing lungs. “...because I don’t wanna die.”

He opened his eyes and saw he was alone. No music. No Losers. No Richie. Not even tears down his cheeks anymore. The lights and decorations has stayed, but the room as a whole, without anything of meaning inside it, was empty. Just like him now.

“...because I wanna be alive.”

And then there was nothing.

Just nothing.

But then after the nothing was a tub filled with cold water, an open bottle of medicine, and the dim lights of his bathroom. Stan’s body stirred slightly as his consciousness returned, before his eyes rolled over drearily to the cap of sleeping meds that laid forgotten on the floor. _ The pills. _

Stan didn’t even have time to celebrate having woken up before he jammed his finger into his mouth, pushing it as far as it could go until he felt himself gagging over and over again. It didn’t take long for him to feel sick to his stomach. He hunched over and retched out belts of vomit into the water and all over himself, coughing the rest of it out until his whole body felt purged of the little food he had eaten over the past few days. In the midst of it, there were small, white orbs, and their colourful coatings that had melted and now lined his expelled vomit in streaks. 

Stan coughed one last time, before sitting back in his tub. His body hurt like hell, probably from lying in a bathtub for God knows how long. His mouth tasted like gonorrhea probably felt, and his heart was racing away in his aching chest. His skin had broken out into goosebumps, and he was shivering as chunks of puke drifted on top of him. But despite all that, he actually managed to laugh a little, even with the tears that started to blur his vision.

“I’m not dead,” He said. “Holy fucking crap I’m not dead.”

He laughed some more, and covered his mouth with his hands.

“Oh thank God.”

And then he burst into tears, the happy kind, though. Well, mostly happy. There were probably some sad ones mixed in there too. He was alive, yes. But he still came way too fucking close to sending himself to the other option. He never should have come that close. No one should ever have to come that close. And yet he did. And now, all he could do was hope and pray that he’d never listen to the need to cut or scratch or overdose ever again.

“No, no, you can’t go up there…” A familiar, although now unsettling voice called. There was the sound of footsteps coming up a staircase, followed by a knock on the door.

“Stan?” A different voice called. “Stan are you in there?”

“He’s cleaning himself up. Now please leave.”

Stan unplugged the drain and stood up, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around himself before stepping out of the tub. Unfortunately, he had forgotten how slippery bathtubs could be. His foot slid along the surface, his heart flying to his throat for a moment as he fell face-first onto the floor. There was a loud bang, and then his head began to throb and ache and scream with pain, leaving him sprawled out on the bathroom tiles, where, for a few seconds, he did nothing but lay there, not wanting to even think about getting up. 

“Oww.” He heard another set of knocks against the door, making the pain in his skull all the worse. Grumbling to himself, he pushed forward, and managed to crawl his way across the floor before twisting the doorknob just enough to let the door slide open.

“Stan?” Bill asked. “What h-h-happened?”

And in that moment Stan had one of his rare, brilliant moments of bullshitting.

“I think I have the flu.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let My Baby Stay- covered by Amandla Stenberg (song originally by Mac Demarco): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BzSHTQjOXQk
> 
> Today is World Mental Health Day, so I'm going to take the time to address anyone reading this who may be dealing with their own mental health issues: first of all, I'm surprised you're here because I put like a shit ton of trigger warnings on this story. Only you know yourself, though, so you make your own decisions. Now that that's out of the way, I'm going to get serious: you are not alone. Things will get better, even if they feel like they won't. You just need to take the first step. It's not easy, but I implore you to seek out the guidance counselor at your school, professional help, or to at least talk to someone, preferably an adult, that you trust. I'm not going to say "I've been where you are", because chances are I haven't. Everyone's experiences are different, and I'm not going to pretend to know yours. But I am going to say that finally speaking up and asking for help was probably the best decision I ever made, because it helped me realize that I'm a lot tougher than I give myself credit for. And you are too. You may not always feel that way, but you are.
> 
> Sincerely,  
Alex "Y'all are all awesome and amazing people (yes! you reading this!)! Have an awesome day/night/whatever time of day it is when you're reading this" M-M


	7. Depressed, Stressed, But F**k It, I'm Blessed

Stanley stayed in the hospital for a few days, not at all thanks to what he claimed was the flu, but actually because of the mild concussion he suffered from banging his head against the floor. His parents asked the doctors to run extra tests just to make sure he was okay; they weren’t exactly a rich family, but nothing was more important to them than their son. Normally Stan would feel like it was all too much, but in its own way, the overbearingness warmed his heart. They did care about him. In their own way, they did. And maybe someday they might overlook the whole Richie thing. Sure, it was a long shot, but he was still holding out hope. 

There was one conversation between him and his parents that was particularly interesting, though it didn’t really give him any hints as to his relationship with them going forward. The doctor had asked if he'd felt any migraines or headaches before throwing up.

_ “Yeah,” Stan lied. “I had a really bad one.” _

_ “That’s why you took out the aspirin, right?” His mom had asked. _

_ Stan’s eyes widened. _

_ “Wait, what?” _

_ “Did you forget? She asked. “We found a bottle of them open in the bathroom while we were cleaning up. You took one for your headache, right?” _

_ Stan laughed to himself. _

_ “Yeah. Exactly. Right.” _

_ Aspirin. Fucking aspirin. _

_ “Fuck me,” Stan whispered underneath his breath. _

Towards the end of his stay in the hospital, he received a few visitors. He had his parents to thank for them, since they had left him for the day to go back to work. That’s when the Losers Club came to see him. 

Well, two of them, at least.

“Hey, Stan,” Mike started nervously, slowly coming into the room with Ben.“How are you doing?”

“Been better,” Stan said. “My head still hurts and I’m dizzy as fuck most of the time, but I’m fine. You guys?” 

Ben shrugged.

“We’re okay,” He said. “We haven’t seen Bill or Eddie in a while, though.”

“Yeah, have they stopped by yet?” Mike asked. 

“Nope,” Stan said. “I mean I saw Bill at my house for, like, a few seconds before he got kicked out, but they haven’t stopped by here yet.”

“Dicks,” Mike said.

“I don’t mind,” Stan said. “I’m sure they’ll come soon.”

“You seem like you’re in a pretty good mood,” Ben said. “I mean, the last time we saw you... ended a little intensely.”

“Yeah, I remember,” Stan said. “I was going through a few things on my own, and I was really, really not in a good place. But I’m better, now.”

“Because of the flu or the concussion?” Mike asked. “Cause I don’t think either of those are really recommended for your health.”

“No, cause of some other stuff,” Stan said. “And I’ve actually really been wanting to talk about it with you guys…”

He paused when he peeked outside his room and caught a glimpse of two familiar boys pacing around on the other side of the door. 

“With _all_ of you guys,” He said, loud enough for them to hear.

There was some whispering.

“What do we do? What should we do? He probably hates us.”

“Let’s just g-g-go in.”

Sure enough, Bill and Eddie cautiously entered the room.

“Hey,” Eddie said, waving awkwardly.

“Look, we’re s-s-sorry…” Bill stopped himself mid-sentence. “I forgot; you had something you wanted to s-s-say?”

“Yeah, but it’s okay,” Stan said. “I’m good with you guys going first.”

Bill and Eddie exchanged glances with each other, and then with Mike and Ben. Taking a seat in the chairs, they spent a good five seconds in one of the most awkward silences Stan ever had the misfortune of being a part of. Finally, Bill spoke up:

“I’m sorry about what we d-d-did. That’s why I was over at your house the other day. I wanted to tell you I’m sorry, and that I-I should’ve known better. And there are a million other things I could say to you to try and apologize, but I feel like we’ve done enough talking.”

“We were too busy trying to tell you who you are, that we never actually thought to just ask you,” Eddie said. “So that’s what we’re doing.”

“What, like an interview?” Stan asked.

“Yeah, of s-s-sorts,” Bill said. “Only if you want to, though.”

Stan took a moment to think. He knew what they were going to ask. They were going to ask him about liking boys, and whether or not he liked girls, and whether or not he actually loved Richie, and maybe even if he’s ever liked any of them that way. Except for that last one, he wasn’t sure he’d know the answers to any of those questions.

“Sure. Ask.”

Eddie pulled out a folded up paper from his pockets, and read aloud.

“I’ll go first,” Bill said, clearing his throat. “Let’s start easy. What’s your name?”

“My name?” Stan asked.

“Yeah,” Eddie said. “We kind of wanted to work our way up to the big ones. Start with something we all already know.”

Mike leaned in closer to see the questions on the paper. His eyes widened.

“Yeah, you might wanna listen to them.”

He took a deep breath, and sighed.

“Stan,” he said. “Stanley. My name’s Stanley Uris.”

“Are you Jewish?” Eddie asked.

“Yup.”

“How old are you?” Bill asked.

“Thirteen.”

“Are you a boy?” Eddie asked.

“Take off this stupid dress I’m wearing and find out.”

The boys in the room managed to laugh at that.

“Okay, b-b-big ones now,” Bill started. “Are you gay?”

“No,” Stan said, “Definitely not. Before Richie I would get crushes on girls all the time. And if things don’t work out with him for some reason, I’d wanna date one.”

“Who would you wanna date?” Eddie asked.

“Michelle Pfieffer,” Stan said. “Haven’t seen her in anything, but she seems awesome.”

Bill gave his friend a small break before asking his next question.

“Are you straight?” Bill asked.

Stan thought for a moment. He thought of all the terrible, sleepless nights he’d been cursed with since the summer, and how, even after just one Halloween at the arcade, he had started to feel hope again. He thought of the first kiss he ever shared, and how he and the other boy turned and smiled at each other as they parted ways that night. He thought of Richie. His trashmouth best friend Richie. His loser boyfriend that he’d pretty much came back from the dead to see again (well, he came back for a lot of reasons, but the boyfriend was in the top three at least) Richie. 

“No. I’m sorry, guys, but no-” Stan paused for a moment. “Actually, scratch that. Not the, ‘I’m not straight’ part; the sorry part. I’m not sorry. I couldn’t change even if I wanted to, and if you’re my friends, then you’ll be okay with that.”

There was a brief silence. Ben nodded supportively. Mike had a smile on his face. Eddie was looking down at the floor. And Bill said:

“Last question: are you happy? With Richie, I mean. Does he make you h-h-happy?”

Stan opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. 

That’s when he looked around and realized that everyone and everything in the room had frozen. He didn’t even feel like he was in the hospital anymore, but instead someplace new. One with a recovering boy, and a set of (hopefully still, by the end of the conversation) best friends. 

And a clown.

_ “Go on, Stanley Boy, _ ” Pennywise said.  _ “Go on. Say it. Say the truth. Tell them how hurt Richie makes you feel, and how miserable and lonely you are with him. Tell them how you tried to kill yourself so you wouldn’t have to be with him, or the rest of them. How you’re not, never were, and never will be brave like them. How all you’ll ever be is on the outside.” _

Stan laughed to himself.

“No.”

Pennywise chuckled.

“I fucking said no,” Stan said, sliding out of his bed and walking closer to the clown.“You were wrong. You’ve  _ always  _ been wrong. About me, about my friends, about everything.” 

A nervous look suddenly came on Pennywise’s face, as It started to back up from the boy.

_ “Now now, Stanley”  _ It started, pieces of the clown’s chalk white face starting to crack. _ “No need for any of this. We can just go on back home and finish what you started…” _

“You’ve always been  _ fucking  _ wrong!” Stan yelled, backing the demon up against the wall. “And you almost made me lose what matters most to me. My friends, Richie, my whole life! You were killing me. But I won’t let you anymore.”

Pieces of flesh were starting to break off and float through the air.

“Whatever part of my mind that thinks you’re right isn’t in control anymore,” Stan said. “I am.”

_ “For now,”  _ Pennywise snarled.  _ “For now, you are. But what about tomorrow? Or the day after? Or when Richie never wakes up? Or when the real me comes back? You know I’m right, you know you’re right, and soon you’ll be right back in that bathtub.” _

“No, I won’t,” Stan said. “I’m gonna tell my friends about what happened, and they’ll help me, and I’ll go to them the next time I feel that way. They’re gonna help me. Because that’s what friends do.”

Pennywise grumbled to Itself.

_ “I won’t go away,”  _ It said.  _ “I’ll never go away. Slit my wrist or have me break into pieces, but I can never die. Because I am you, Stanley Boy. Your thoughts, your fears, everything! And soon enough I’ll be back, maybe not like this, but in your mind, screaming at you until you understand how pathetic you really are…” _

Its head exploded into a mass of brains and blood, pure red staining the white walls of the room as the clown’s body dropped to Its knees, and then the floor.

“I know. And I’ll be ready when you do.”

And just like that Stan was back in his hospital bed, facing his friends as he was asked one final question:

“Last question: are you happy? With Richie, I mean. Does he make you h-h-happy?”

He didn’t need any more pauses.

“He makes me feel alive.

With context Stan felt  _ super _ clever, but the rest of the Losers were just confused.

“So...yes?” Eddie asked.

“Uh-huh,” Stan said, nodding. “Yeah. He makes my heart do fuckin jumping jacks.”

Bill smiled to himself.

“Then I’m okay with it.”

“Yeah, me too,” Eddie said. “We want what’s best for you. And if being with Richie is that... then awesome.”

“But please, when you’re with us try to pay us more att-tt-ttention,” Bill said. “Just because you have a boyfriend doesn’t mean you get to forget about all of us.”

“Gotta agree with Bill on that one,” Mike said. “It’s not cool to make the rest of us always feel left out.”

“They do have a point,” Ben said.

“I hear you,” Stan said. “I get it. I know what it’s like to feel on the outside.”

Eddie furrowed his brows.

“Wait- wasn’t there something you wanted to tell us?”

Stan’s stomach dropped. It was time to tell his friends the truth about the cuts on his skin, and the kind of things he thought and felt when he was sad or anxious, and why he was in the hospital. So they could help him the next time he felt that way.

“Nah, it’s okay. It can wait for another time.”

Baby steps were the best way to go. He could only handle so much seriousness with his friends in one day.

“Well, there’s actually something else I wanted to s-s-say,” Bill said. “I've had a lot of time to think about the things you said to us at the quarry, and I have some ideas.”

Stan furrowed his brows.

“You know how each member of a group has their own skill set?” Bill asked. “Like something only they can bring to the team?”

“Yeah,” Stan said. 

“So I was thinking about what you said about feeling like you’re tacked on to the rest of us, and out of place...” Bill started.

“...oh, shit, you don’t need to worry about any of that,” Stan said. “I was in a really bad place, and I’m okay with being kind of on the outside, to be honest.”

“I think he figured out your role,” Mike said. 

Stan’s eyes widened.

“Wait, what?”

“Uh-huh,” Bill said.   


“What is it?” Stan asked, excitement building up.

“The Jewish one?” Eddie asked. 

“The nervous one?” Ben asked.

“The  _ sixth  _ white one?” Mike asked.

“Guys, shut up,” Stan said, turning to Bill again. “Tell me.”

“You’re the voice of reason,” Bill said. “You complain sometimes, but it’s always to try and keep us from getting into danger. So you can protect us all. And if we didn’t have you, a lot of us would probably be dead by now. I know it’s not as cool as being the leader or the pain in the ass, but it’s still important.”

Stan looked down at the bed. That...wasn’t exactly what he was hoping for. But he could work with it.

“Yeah,” Stan said, nodding. “Yeah. I’m the voice of reason.”

Stanley Uris. Voice of Reason of the Losers Club. Jewish one, suicidal one, slightly whiny one, straight-as-a-fruit-loop one. And smart one. And thoughtful one. And cautious one. And caring one. Voice of Reason. Suddenly, he didn’t feel so on the outside anymore.

“I’ll take it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Depressed, Stressed, But F**k It, I'm Blessed"- joegarratt: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-lHOHKlOGUw
> 
> "Fuck it I'm blessed" or "fuck IT I'm blessed", amirite? Get it? Get it...I'll see myself out.
> 
> Sincerely,  
Alex "I'm running out of creative things to put between my name" M-M


	8. Lovely

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so there's no confusion, this chapter is named after "Lovely" by twenty one pilots, not "Lovely" by Billie Eilish and Khalid. That's a good song, don't get me wrong, it's just definitely not the tone I'm going for with this chapter.

Once the weekend was over Stan was able to get out of the hospital, but it was a bit like trading one prison for another. He was still grounded for lying to his parents and sneaking around with a boy, and was confined to his house for a week. No friends, no t.v even, and not a chance in the world that he was allowed to visit Richie in the hospital. It wasn’t really getting to him, though. At least, not until he heard Richie was up.

Eddie had called him in the afternoon one day, whispered, “Richie’s awake the doctors found out what’s wrong with him and now he’s fine come quick he’s asking for you” and hung up to close the window of time in which Stan could get caught for using the phone when he wasn’t allowed any contact with the outside world. For a second, he almost jumped so high he flew through the roof. But then he remembered he wasn’t allowed to go out. And that’s when he got an idea.

“Mom!” Stan called from his bathroom. “My head really hurts, and we’re out of pills. Can I go get some at the pharmacy?”

“Do you think your flu’s back?” His mom called. “Do you need to go back to the hospital?”

Stan snorted. _ Yeah, actually. Yeah I would like to go to the hospital. _

“No, I’d just like some aspirin,” He called. “Can I go?”

“I could’ve sworn we still had.”

Stan opened the medicine cabinet and saw a nearly full bottle of pills. He frowned and tossed them all in the toilet.

“Sorry, it’s empty.”

“Well your father doesn’t want you out of the house.”

“He’s not home until seven. He doesn’t have to know.”

There was a pause.

“Fine. But be quick.”

Stan raised his fist in the air.

“Thanks!” He called out, almost flying down the stairs and into his coat and out the front door. Being able to be outside again was amazing, but he didn’t have time to enjoy it. He needed to get to Richie as soon as possible, which didn’t take him long, actually. He knew the way to the hospital quite well by now.

Running through the halls, he found himself checking the room numbers frantically, trying to see which one was Richie’s.

“107? No, that’s not it.”

He ran past another few doors.

“112? No, still not it.”

And a few more doors.

“Fuck, where the hell is he…”

“Stan?” A voice called, sending butterflies fluttering rampantly in his stomach. Stan turned, and saw the inside of a hospital room, with Bill, Eddie, Ben, and Mike all sitting in the waiting room chairs. And then of course there was Richie, lying in the bed and still wearing the ridiculous gown. His skin was slick with sweat, but back to its normal, un-flu-from-hell infected colour, and his hair, although slightly messy, was still raven black and draped over his forehead. His lips were a healthy red, and just as soft and pillowy as Stan remembered them, and his eyes were highlighted by his thick black glasses.

“Richie!” Stan exclaimed, his heart soaring as he ran over to the boy, wrapping him up in his arms immediately and holding on as tight as he could. “Richie, you’re back!”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m back, dude,” Richie said, trying to break apart. Stan did his best not to be offended as he dropped the boy from his arms and took a seat on the bed. “What did I miss?”

“Way too much,” Stan said. “I can’t wait to talk to you.”

“Do you guys need a minute?” Ben asked.

“We don’t mind stepping out,” Mike said.

Stan looked to Bill, trying to ask without words whether or not a private conversation with his boyfriend would be selfish, considering he was everyone else’s friend too, after all. They’d worried and missed him as well.

“Go f-f-for it,” Bill said. “We’ll be outside.”

“Bye, guys,” Richie said with a wave as the Losers made their way out of the room. For a few seconds, neither Stan nor Richie said anything. They just exchanged subtle, slightly awkward smiles, until Richie asked:

“Did you get my note?”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it.”

“Thank fuck. Did it help?”

“Not really.”

“Yeah, I figured. Still: had to try.”

“You don’t seem all that happy to see me. Is something wrong?”

“You mean, like, aside from almost dying?”

Stan chuckled lightly. “Yeah, yeah I guess. I guess what I meant was...do you not want me here? Cause this is all probably a lot for you, and I’ll give you some space if you...”

“What? No, no of course not dude. I just…” He paused for a moment. “If I seem a little out of it, it’s just cause I’ve been asleep for so long, and yeah, you were probably missing me a lot and worrying about me while I was gone, but for me, it’s only been like a day since I last saw you. And that doesn’t mean I want you to leave or that I’m not super excited to see you or anything, but just know it’s gonna take me some time to meet you on your level.”

“Okay,” Stan said. “That’s fine. I get it.”

Richie smirked cockily.

“_ Although_,” He started, “I’m pretty sure I know what you wanna tell me.”

Stan could feel his heart racing and his palms sweating. “You do?”

“Yeah, of course,” Richie said cockily. “You’re really predictable, sometimes. So I’m gonna tell you before you tell me. I wanted to write it on the note, but I pussy’d out. And I wanted to say it in person too. Okay, here it goes…” He scrunched his face together with embarrassment. “Gah fuck- I love you.”

Stan raised his eyebrows.

“Wait, what?”

“Whoah, that feels good to get out,” Richie said, almost panting. “I’ve kinda been holding it in for a while, you know? But yeah, I love you. I wanted to say it in a way that’s not just casual or right before bed; I wanted to actually make it a thing. I really love you, Stan.”

Stan looked down at the floor.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath.

“Isn’t...that what you were gonna tell me?” Richie chuckled nervously.

Stan cleared his throat, and turned to the boy. “No. Sorry.”

Richie’s head bowed.

“Oh. Well then... I feel fucking embarrassed now. Just forget I said anything, okay? I don’t want things to be weird between us if you don’t wanna deal with that kind of stuff yet...”

“...Richie I tried to kill myself.”

Richie continued speaking for a moment, before looking back up at Stan. “Wait, what? I think my ears are still in fucking coma-mode, cause it sounded like you said you tried to kill yourself.”

“Nope,” Stan said, feeling his chest getting tight. “No, your ears are fine. I tried to…” He cleared his throat. “...(sorry) kill myself.”

“What the fuck, dude?” Richie asked. “How bad did you hit your head? That’s not funny.”

“I’m not trying to be funny,” He said. “A few days ago, I was in the hospital too.”

“Yeah, the guys told me,” Richie said. “You got the flu. The real flu, not whatever shit I had. And then you hit your head when you fell on the floor.”

“I didn’t have the flu,” Stan said. “I lied and told my parents I did because I tried to take too many pills and overdose. I threw up because after I stuck my finger in my throat to get them out.”

“Stan shut up I’m serious,” Richie said. “This isn’t a joke. Why are you saying this?”

Stan pulled up the sleeve of his shirt to show the cuts on his wrist and forearm.

“Here,” Stan said. “I didn’t fall off my bike, I took a razor from my dad’s set and cut myself.”

“What? No,” Richie said. “You fell. You told me you fell. You wouldn’t lie to me.”

“I’m sorry Richie I did,” Stan said, his eyes getting watery. “Because I-” he sniffled some snot coming down his nose and rubbed his eyes. “- because I didn’t wanna tell you the truth because I was worried you’d take it badly.”

“Take it badly? There’s nothing to take,” Richie said. “You’re just lying to me. I don’t know why, but yeah, that’s what’s going on. There’s no way you’d…” Richie had to take a deep breath. “..I mean, you would never try to…” He coughed a little, and tears pooled in his eyes. “...I-I know you. You wouldn’t. I mean, sure, you were acting a little weirdly ever since the summer, but you wouldn’t...do anything like that because you’re still happy.”

Stan was trying to be patient. Richie was in denial. He didn’t know how to cope with anything like this. His parents didn’t exactly do a stand-up job raising him.

“You’re scared,” Stan said. “I’m scared too, okay? I don’t wanna kill myself, but sometimes I just feel these parts of me screaming that I should, and when they do I can’t think of anything else. And it started with just me wanting a distraction from always thinking about Pennywise, so I would scratch myself, and then I would steal the razor and cut myself because I liked how the pain calmed me down, and then I kept thinking about how much better off everyone would be if I were dead...” 

“...what the actual fuck, Stanley?!” Richie said, and Stan stood up from the bed. “You tried to- you, you tried to- you’re suicidal?!”

“Yes,” Stan said. “I’ve been for a while now. Since the summer. But I’m trying to get better now, and I need your help. I don’t wanna do this without you.”

“Dude you don’t need me, you need a fucking psychologist!”

“What am I supposed to tell them? That I wanna kill myself because an evil clown came up from the sewers and now I’m scared shitless? They’d think I’m crazy.”

“You _ are _crazy.”

“No I’m not!”

“What kind of person tries to fucking kill themselves? You know that when you die, you’re just dead, right? That there’s nothing after? Why the fuck would you want that?”

“You know what? This was a mistake. This was a big, fucking mistake.”

Stan started to leave the room.

“Wait, where are you going?”

“I’m not gonna just stand here while you yell at me.”

“I’m not yelling at you!”

“Yes you are! We’re yelling at each other right now because of you!”

“Because of me? Are you fucking serious? You’re the one who fucking slices yourself up!”

“Well you’re the one who’s fucking getting upset with me for fucking slicing myself up for fuck’s sake! What kind of shitbag dumb fuck gets upset with a guy for trying to kill himself?!”

“You think I’m upset with you?! You _ actually _ think I’m upset with you?!”

“Are you fucking retarded?! Of course I think you’re upset with me because you _ are fucking upset with me _!”

“I’m not upset with you, Stanley! I’m upset that you tried to kill yourself! I’m upset that somehow you were so fucking miserable and scared that you had to make yourself fucking bleed to forget about it! I’m upset that bad shit keeps happening to you even though you don’t do anything wrong! I’m upset that I wasn’t a good enough friend, forget about boyfriend, to make you wanna stop or stay alive, and I’m fucking pissed that you don’t love me or any of the other Losers enough to _ wanna _ stay alive!”

There were tears involved. But not on Stan’s part.

“Are you crying?” Stan asked.

“What? Fuck,” Richie said, wiping tears from his face. “No I’m not.”

“Yeah, you are,” Stan said, coming back to sit on the bed. “You’re crying.”

“No, I’m not,” Richie said. “I’m just…” He looked across at Stan with teary red eyes and a scrunched up face. “...fuck you.” He leaned forward and wrapped the boy up tightly, bawling into his shoulder and saying “fuck you” over and over again.

Stan could feel the tears falling from his eyes as well.

“Fuck you too, you fucking asshole,” Stan said, now crying into Richie’s shoulder too. “I fucking hate you.”

“I fucking hate you too,” Richie said, still crying. “I really fucking hate you. You’re the only thing that makes me cry this much. You made me cry when I thought you were clown-food when we lost you in the sewers, and now you’re making me cry cause you actually wanna stop living, and I know that you don’t love me enough to stay alive.”

“Bull-fucking-shit, Richie,” Stan said, still crying. “I love you so fucking much. I was able to wake myself up because I fucking love you so much, and the things you make me feel and all the Losers and just being alive is just so fucking great, you know?”

“_I _ know, I wanna make sure you fucking know.”

“I know, okay? I learned my lesson.”

“What, you tried to kill yourself and now you’re all better? That makes no sense!”

“No, I’m not all better. A lot, though, and it wasn’t trying to kill myself that got me here. It was thinking about you and my friends and what I’d be missing out on if I died. I didn’t need to take the pills and make myself think I was gonna overdose for that. That’s just how it happened, you know? If I would’ve just spoken to someone about what I was going through I wouldn’t have needed to do that, and I’m pretty sure it only worked for me. There’s no fucking way I’d recommend it for anyone else. Not in a million years.”

Richie kept on crying into his shoulder.

“You think we’re gonna run out of tears soon?” He asked.

“Don’t think so,” Stan said, wiping his nose on Richie’s shoulder. 

“That’s gonna be a ‘no’ from us too.”

Stan and Richie looked up to see the Losers Club standing in the doorway, Eddie at the front, all with tears in their eyes.

“You guys were fucking listening the whole fucking time?” Richie asked.

“You were shouting!” Ben said, still crying.

“Can we j-j-join you?” Bill asked.

Stan gestured for them to come forward. “Fucking hell yeah you can.”

The whole club gathered up around Richie and became one big blog of sobbing teenage boys hugging and crying into each other.

“I fucking love you guys,” Stan cried.

“We love you too,” Bill cried.

“So freakin’ much,” Mike cried. “You have no idea.”

Stan actually managed to smile through his tears. It was nice to know people cared about him. If only he’d seen it sooner. Because it wasn’t trying to kill himself that made his friends into his family. It wasn’t like that at all. They were already a family. They already loved him, and he already loved them. He’d just lost sight of all that, and perhaps, in a different way, they did too. Still, he spent enough time thinking about all the bad parts of life. Now it was time to focus on the brighter side. 

He could see clearer on that side anyways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Lovely"- twenty one pilots: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GJZq6QXOY_s
> 
> (^ Awesome song, in case anyone's wondering. I prefer the Vessel bonus track version, so I linked that one, but the original is pretty good too)
> 
> So I feel like I might have pissed people off with this chapter because of the way Richie handles everything with Stanley. Personally, as someone who on purpose does not read anyone else's IT fanfics so I can keep my interpretation of the characters from being influenced, I cannot imagine a universe in which the Richie Tozier that we know from the films and the book could have reacted well to what Stanley told him, or in which he somehow magically gains some kind of wisdom about mental health and acts all supportive and loving right away. That's actually why I chose "Lovely" for this chapter; if you read/listen to the lyrics, that's how I imagine Richie reacting in a way. Like: "Hey, I don't really understand the things you're telling me or the pain you're going through, but please stay alive because I love you and I want to help you get better." He just has a lot of his own issues that make him unable to understand at first that he's angry because he's so scared and cares for Stanley so much. But hey, like I said: that's just my interpretation. If you think Richie actually would be able to deal with this sort of thing better than he did in this story, that's just as valid. That's the great thing about fanfic! If you don't like someone's vision of your favourite characters, you can write your own or find someone else's who you do like. Stephen King would probably say "I can't imagine a world in which Stanley doesn't kill himself to avoid facing It." That's his vision for the character. Do I hate it? Yes. And he'd probably hate mine, which he totally has the right to because it's his character, but that's besides the point. Hopefully you get what I'm trying to say and what I'm trying to convey with this chapter, but if its' not for you, I appreciate you reading this far anyways, and have an awesome day. 
> 
> That being said: final chapter for this story coming November 1st! (If all goes according to plan!!) Very exciting! I'm going to quickly thank everyone who's been reading so far: thank you so much! 
> 
> Until next time,  
Alex "I'm dressing up as Pride Edition Babadook for Halloween and it's very gay and very exciting" M-M


	9. Take On Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said I'd post this on November 1st and right now it's a little past midnight on November 2nd, so...hopefully that works with everyone? Also yes, this "Take On Me" is the a-ha song, but it's the acoustic/unplugged version, so it's less of a meme. I'll link it at the bottom as per usual, and I'd definitely recommend checking it out cause it's quite good. Especially with this chapter.

The rest of the break was looking like hell, since Stan was still grounded while everyone else was out having fun. Most days he found himself sitting in his kitchen, looking out the window with his ear all but surgically attached to the phone in case someone called him.  
On the bright side, he did use the extra time by himself to catch up on all the homework and studying he missed during the first half of the school year, when he was too traumatized to focus on grades. So maybe being grounded wasn’t so bad after all. If he finished all his studying now, he could spend all of his spare time with his friends once the break was done...well, so long as he was able to come up with a good enough cover story to trick his parents. They still didn’t want him hanging out with “the wrong crowd.” But if the right crowd meant being away from the people who cared about him, then he was more than okay with flashing the middle finger to his dad. 

He also got to catch up on writing to Bev. He told her everything that had happened, from his hallucinations to his dreams to the razor and the pills to the big, teary group hug. He left nothing out; he knew he could trust her. Besides, it wasn’t fair if the rest of the club knew and she didn’t. And the more people he had who could help him, the better.

But the best part of being grounded was also kind of the worst. Some nights he’d get calls from Richie, and the two would spend hours whispering into the phone, which was pretty difficult considering the insults they’d often hurl at each other. They did manage, though, like they always did. It wasn’t hard on Richie’s part, at least; his parents never really payed him much attention before, so they didn’t start when they heard he had a boyfriend. They probably considered working overtime to pay the hospital bills enough as it was. Stan was happy for him, though. But as great as talking on the phone was, Stan wanted more. He wanted his boyfriend back in his arms, and to be back in his boyfriend’s arms, feeling warm and calm and protected. He wanted the late nights spent joking and shoving each other around and getting into playful arguments, like that time they debated if Princess Leia being in a gold bikini was really necessary (the consensus was no, but that neither minded at all). He wanted to see Richie again. In the flesh. And he would have that as soon as the break ended...or at least, he was going to. Until his parents sat him down by the couch and had a chat with him.

“Is everything okay?” Stan asked. 

His father sighed.

“Stanley, your mother and I have been thinking,” He started, “and we think it’s best that you get out of Derry for a while. Air yourself out, considering all you’ve been through recently.”

Stan’s stomach dropped.

“For how long?”

“Oh, we haven’t thought that far in advance,” His father said. “But you get the idea.”

“We thought we’d send you to live with your Bubby for a while,” His mother said. “You know, change of scenery, meet different people...it might be good for you.”

Stan didn’t know what to say. _ They’re...they’re joking, right? They have to be joking. _

“But...I don’t wanna leave,” Stan said. “I mean, I wanna stay here. In Derry.”

“And you’ll come back,” His mother said. “When you’re ready to.”

“Or you may decide you like it better there,” His father suggested.

“Exactly,” His mother said. 

For a second, Stan really did think they were joking. They had to be. The whole thing would turn out to be a big joke, and then soon enough his father would pat him on the back, tell him he was only messing with him, and that he was going to stay in Derry. With his friends. And that he was absolutely allowed to see Richie. That his parents didn’t mind him liking a boy. That he was still their son no matter what.

“When do I leave?” Stan asked.

“Tomorrow, actually,” His father said, standing up. “Now come on, I’ll help you pack.”

Stan got up as well, and even walked to his room and started packing his things, but during all that he was completely lifeless. He didn’t speak a word unless he was answering a question asked by his parents, and his face was expressionless. He still couldn’t believe what was going on. After all he’d been through, he deserved to be with Richie. He’d earned it. So why couldn’t he? Why couldn’t he just be with the boy he loved, without clowns or dreams about clowns or comas or suicidal thoughts getting in the way? It wasn’t fair. He loved Richie. And this was going to break his heart.

_ Both _ of their hearts.

“I need to say goodbye,” Stan said abruptly, interrupting his parents during a conversation he didn’t hear. “Can I at least say goodbye?”

“To who?” His father asked. 

“My friends,” Stan said.

His father was about to say something, before he was distracted by some kind of god-awful noise coming from outside the window. He craned his head, and sighed.

“Your friends?” He pointed out the window. “Or him?”

Stan turned and saw Richie in his driveway, blowing a trumpet he had probably stolen. He smiled, and ran out of his room until he was in the driveway. Out there, he could see the Losers hiding in the bushes, each one with a different instrument, all trying and failing to play a song.

Stan got close enough for them to see him.

“Stan!” Richie called out, waving. “It worked! We annoyed them into letting you out!”

Stan didn’t speak as he walked over to them. 

“It was Richie’s idea,” Bill said with a smile. “The m-m-music, I mean.”

“It was _ Let My People Go _ ,” Richie said. “Get it? Cause you’re Jewish and I’m trying to get you out?”

There was a brief silence.

“Stan?” Richie asked. “Hellooo. Stanley. You there?”

Stan looked back at him.

“I have something I need to say…”

“...ah holy shit,” Richie said, turning to everyone else. “Operation _ Heathers _!”

Shit hit the fan in a spectacularly apocalyptic way.

“Water!” Bill said to everyone around him. “S-s-someone get a glass of water!” 

Eddie rushed into Bill who rushed into Mike who rushed into Ben who rushed into Eddie who rushed into Bill…

Richie sat Stan down on the driveway and took his hand.

“Hey, hey, Stan,” He started. “It’s gonna be okay. Just breathe. There, that’s it. You’re doing great, okay dude?”

Eddie squatted down on the ground and rolled up Stan’s sleeve to see the marks on his skin.

“All from before,” Eddie said. “No new ones. Put on a jacket, though, it’s fuckin freezing.”

Ben started reading a self-help book from the library. “_You’re in a happy place. On the beach. There are birds everywhere. Do you hear the birds? Relax, and you will.” _

“Give him some space,” Mike reminded, making sure everyone other than Richie was standing at least a few feet back from the boy. 

“Guys, I wasn’t having those thoughts before but now I am.”

Everyone froze.

Richie didn’t laugh.

“This isn’t that kind of something I need to say.”

“Oh, thank fuck,” Richie said, as everyone took a collective sigh of relief. “I don’t know if you could tell, but we really weren’t ready for that. So...what’s up?”

Stan stayed silent for a bit, and then looked up at his friends. “Can we go to the quarry?”

…

By the time Stan was finished speaking, everyone was still. 

“You’re leaving?” Richie asked, hurt in his voice. “For how long?”

“I don’t know,” Stan said, unable to turn to face him. “My parents say I’ll come back when I’m ready to.”

“More like when they think you’ve snapped out of it,” Mike said.

“Yeah, exactly,” Stan said.

Bill looked up at his friend.

“How long until you’re g-g-gone?” 

“Tomorrow, I think,” Stan said. “Yeah. Tomorrow. That’s when out flight is.” He took a breath. “I think this is the last time I’ll see you guys before I go.”

“No... don’t say that!” Richie said. “They can’t do this to you! I mean, there’s no way you can stay?”

“I don’t think so,” Stan said. “My parents made it clear they want me out of Derry.”

“Where are you going?” Ben asked.

“Atlanta,” Stan said. “That’s where my Bubby is.”

“And you don’t know if you’re coming back?” Eddie asked.

“No,” Stan said. “I’m in the dark about a lot of this. You guys know as much as I do now.”

There was a small pause.

“I mean, it’s not so bad, right?” Stan asked. “Bev’s gone and we still keep in touch with her.”

Richie stood up, and started walking away.

“I...um, need a minute,” He said. “I’m coming back, though.”

Stan thought about following him, but remembered something: this was also the last time he’d see the rest of his friends too. The last time he’d see Bill, or Eddie, or Mike, or Ben. He didn’t want to waste that.

“Well let’s do something, f-f-fun,” Bill suggested, standing up. “So your last day with us won’t feel like it.”

“I can’t just forget how I’m leaving you guys soon,” Stan said. “I can’t just forget and hang out like it’s a normal day.”

“Just try,” Eddie said. “Just try and it might work.”

“Yeah, what do you wanna do?” Mike asked. “It’s your last day out in Derry. What will you miss most?”

_ You guys, _Stan thought.

“The movies,” He said. “And the arcade. But I don’t wanna spend my last day here in a dark room not being able to talk.”

Everyone thought for a moment.

“Then let’s bring those places to us,” A voice said. Stan turned to see Richie re-entering the circle, before joining the boys on the rocks. “We can go buy some popcorn and sodas from the movies and make this place just like the theatre.”

“I’ve got some board games I can sneak out of the house,” Eddie said. 

“Yeah, we’ll make it like the arcade too,” Mike said. 

“No, we can’t,” Stan said. “It’ll be too dark out.”

“Well we’ll start a bonfire,” Ben suggested. “I know how to make one.”

“Safely?” Stan said. 

Ben shrugged.

“Sure.”

Stan sighed.

“Voice of reason?” Bill asked. “What do you say?”

Stan looked at all of his friends.

“Sounds like a plan.”

So the Losers Club spent their last night with Stan just hanging out at the quarry, transforming their spot into a makeshift movie theatre-slash-arcade. Bill and Mike had gone out to buy the snacks from the concession stand, while Eddie, Ben, Stan, and Richie had stayed to make the bonfire. Though Richie didn’t spend much one on one time with Stan during the preparations. Just a bit of small talk like, “Shit, it’s cold!” or, “Do you think we should get some marshmallows?”, but if someone outside the club had accidentally found themselves among the group, they never would’ve guessed that the two were a couple...other than for the obvious reasons why you wouldn’t guess, of course.

But the night itself was beautiful. The bonfire, as it turned out, was a great idea, and the Losers spent most of the evening lying on the snowy rocks while staring up at the sparks dancing in the night sky, flying up to the stars as if they were begging to be them.

“You know that it’s really unsafe to breathe in all these emissions from the smoke, right?” Eddie had asked, surprisingly only once in the evening. “You guys do know that, right?”

Most of the night was spent just as any other hangout, though. Random, menial subjects were brought up, music was playing from a boombox (Ben was weirdly adamant about really hating New Kids On the Block whenever one of their songs came on), and people still casually made fun of Stan whenever the opportunity arose. Stan might have liked that last part the most, actually. He was worried that after they all found out about his tendency to have dark thoughts, they’d act like he might break into shards at the slightest jab. They didn’t treat him like that. The period of grace was over, and he couldn’t have been happier about it.

By around eleven, it was clear that the Losers had to start going home soon. Once the cups and candy wrappers and empty bags of popcorn were all cleared up, Eddie had to leave. 

“Bye, Stan,” He said with a wave. “Write to me when you get there. And don’t forget to use sunscreen if you end up staying for the summer! It’s supposed to be hot as fuck there, and UV rays can, like, poison you with radiation until your skin peels off and shit.”

A few minutes later, Ben did too. 

“Bye, Stan,” He said, walking away. “Send me a postcard or something. Maybe one with a cool monument or something?”

And then Mike at around eleven thirty…

“Bye, Stan,” He said, waving as he walked away, “Call sometime, okay? I really don’t wanna lose touch. Or maybe I’ll call you sometime?”

...and then Bill at around midnight.

“Bye, S-s-stanley,” Bill said, giving him a hug. “Don’t forget to wr-wr-write to us.”

“I won’t,” Stan said. “Trust me.”

Walking away, Bill turned, waved, and headed out.

After that, there was a fifteen minute silence between the two boys who were left. At one point, Stan looked over at Richie, who then looked over at Stan, who then darted his eyes away to avoid suspicion. He was pretty sure the opposite happened at least a few times too.

Finally, Stan sighed.

“Richie I think we should talk.”

The other boy didn’t even look at him.

“Yeah, we probably should. But I don’t want to.”

“Why not?”

“Because I know what you’re gonna say. You’re gonna say you think we should break up, because there’s no way in fuck being together while we’re on opposite sides of the country is gonna work out.”

“That’s not what I was gonna say.”

“Yeah, cause you’re a dumbass and you’d never say something like that. You’re also kind of clingy, so that doesn’t help.”

Stan chuckled softly.

“Don’t laugh. Please don’t laugh.”

“Why not?”

“Because then I have to think about how I’ll never hear it again.”

Stan bowed his head.

“Don’t mope either. You’re fucking adorable when you’re mopey.”

“What the fuck, then? I can’t do anything here. Should I just leave?”

“Yeah, sure. Fucking fine by me.”

“Fine.”

Stan got up and started to walk away. “Put out the fire when you’re ready.”

“Wait!”

Stan turned to face him, and saw the conflicted look in his boyfriend’s reddened eyes.

“What, Richie?”

“Please don’t go.”

“You want me to stay?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay fine, I’ll stay.”

Stan came back and took a seat on the snow. He looked over at Richie, who then looked over at him, and the two scooched closer until they were shoulder to shoulder and looking into each other’s eyes.

“I mean it.”

“Mean what?”

“I want you to stay.”

“Yeah I know, that’s why I’m here.”

“No I mean I want you to _ stay stay _. I don’t fucking want you in fucking Atlanta. I want you here, in Derry, with us.”

“You mean with you?”

Richie looked down at the snow.

“I mean, yeah, I guess so, as like a happy consequence or some shit.”

Stan laughed.

“I would if I could.”

“Would what? Stay?”

“Yeah.”

Stan took his hands, and Richie just _ had _to look up at him again.

“If somehow I could, I’d stay here forever. With you, and the Losers, and we’d get Bev back too. And we’d never grow up and we’d always be stuck in 1989 and we’d never have to face Pennywise or Bowers or any other problems and we could just be together. And you wanna top that? How about my parents are cool with me dating you too? How about they don’t care that we’re both boys and aren’t ashamed I’m their son and aren’t trying to send me off to air the queer out of me?”

His boyfriend thought for a moment.

“We’d also get to kiss in public,” Richie added. “We wouldn’t need to sneak around anymore. We could just go over to each other’s places and sleep. And we’d hug and hold hands all around town, and pretty much full-on have sex during movies. And we’d dance. Like you wanted to.”

Stan smiled.

“But that’s a fantasy, Richie. We can’t have any of that. Maybe we were doomed from the start.”

Richie squinted.

“Are all Jews this sour about life, or is it just you?” 

Stan laughed.

“Shut up.”

“I don’t know, I think it might be a genetic thing. The guy at the deli gave me the stink eye when I mispronounced madzay.”

Stan furrowed his brows, and smiled.

“You went for more soup?”

“Of course, it was fucking delicious.”

“Huh.”

The bonfire crackled for a bit; the flames were dying.

“Fine,” Richie said. “So what if we’re doomed? If I had to be doomed with anyone, I’d wanna be doomed with you.”

He moved his hand onto Stan’s knee and squeezed it. Stan wished it was summer, so he could be wearing shorts, and so he could feel Richie’s skin against his own.

“I really don’t wanna go, Richie.”

“And I really don’t want you to go, but I guess here we are. Wait- you’re not gonna try to use the razor to get out of it, right?”

“What? No, of course not. I’m not gonna use it on me ever again.”

“Awesome.”

“I mean I hope not. We’ll see, I guess.”

“Not-so awesome, but still progress and I’ll take it.”

“Well I know I’m not gonna kill myself because I’m leaving you. I’ve learned my lesson. It’s better to be alive. Always. Even if I’m crying every night missing you or worrying I’ll never find friends as good as you guys it’s better than fucking rotting in the ground feeling nothing. Feeling’s a gift. And being dead just sucks. I don’t even think dead people feel peace. They probably just feel nothing, and I don’t want that.”

“Wow, good to know. So you’re done with all the suicidal thoughts?”

“Maybe. I dunno. The thoughts are gonna keep coming back, but I guess that just means I have to keep telling them to fuck off. I’ll call you if I ever feel like I might wanna cut myself. Talking things over with people actually really helps me get back on my level.”

“I’ll try to pick up the phone faster than you’ll pick up a girlfriend. But that really isn’t saying much, since you’re gonna be so hung up on me you probably won’t even look at the kids at your school.”

“Okay, you watch. I’ll have like three girls sucking my dick by Spring Break.”

“At once? Can’t be. There’s not enough to go around. They’ll have to fight over that little tiny baby pickle like you fight to keep your hair from looking like a bird’s nest. AKA trying hard with nothing to show.”

Stan chuckled.

“Actually I take it back. Not the small dick part, though. The hair part. Your hair’s pretty much always perfect. Even when you have bedhead in the morning it’s perfect.”

“Thanks.”

The bonfire was starting to give out.

“I kind of really wanna kiss you.”

“So go for it, Richie.”

“Do you want me to?”

“Does your mom have every STD ever? Answer’s yes to both questions.”

“Hey, say what you will about her, at least she’s not shipping me off cause I’m dating you.”

“Can’t argue with that, actually. She’s not a fucking…”

He paused.

“What? She’s not a fucking what?”

“I was gonna say ‘asshole like my dad’, but that felt kinda harsh. I do kind of still love him.”

“I don’t. You’re right. He’s a fucking asshole.”

Stan turned to him.

“Sorry. Did I cross a line?”

“I just kind of like hearing you say that. It makes me feel like someone’s on my side.”

Richie smiled softly.

“I’ve always been on your side, Stanley.”

Stan leaned forward and pressed his lips to Richie’s, tilting his head to make things easier. Richie put his hand on the boy’s back and pulled him closer, gently stroking him in a way that made Stan feel calmer than he’d felt in so long. They were breathing heavily, and smiling, and kissing...no, they weren’t kissing. They were _ making out _. Really making out. And for a second, it almost did feel like seasons were changing and days were flying off calendars. For a moment, they had created their own pocket in time, existing where no one could find them and where neither morning nor twenty seven years would ever dawn on them. Where they could be together, just like they always wanted. But it was a moment. And moments always passed. That’s what made them so frustrating.

Breaking apart, Stan found himself staring into Richie’s eyes.

“I think I have to go. I’m leaving first thing tomorrow.”

“Yeah, I get it. I’ll put out the fire. I don’t mind being here alone.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, it’s fine.”

“Okay.”

The fire went out.

“Well, I guess this is it. Bye Stanley.”

“Bye Richie.”

Stan got up off the rocks and started for the forest. He knew the way home from the quarry, and wasn’t even thinking about the chance that evil clowns might be lurking behind the trees, waiting to strike now that he was off on his own. He had other things to feel. Until he heard the quick pitter patter of footsteps behind him, speeding until they got closer and closer.

Stan’s heart dropped into his stomach.

And that’s when Richie grabbed him by his shoulders, spun him around, and pulled him into a hug. A tight hug. The tightest they’d ever shared. Tighter than the many times they held each other after Stan woke up from a nightmare, and tighter than the hug Richie gave him when he found out the boy often considered ending his life. And Stan was more than returning the favor.

“Please stay,” Richie said, tears wetting Stan’s shoulders as the boy’s own words choked him. “Tell me what I have to do to make you wanna stay.”

Stan held on even tighter, not crying just yet.

“You’re already doing it, Richie.”

He let there be a moment of just hugging between the two. It was poetic, in a way, that this be their final send-off to each other. They started out as best friends before becoming boyfriends, anyways. A kiss wasn’t enough to truly sum up their relationship. A hug was better for them.

“Richie I love you.”

“Huh?”

“I love you. And I wanted to tell you, not just before bed or casually. I really love you, Richie.”

“Fuck, we almost made it through the night without getting sappy.”

Stan laughed, and broke apart from the boy.

“Come on. I don’t wanna get too clingy.”

Richie chuckled through his tears, the fogged lenses of his glasses keeping Stan from seeing his eyes too well. It was cruel, in a way. Richie had beautiful eyes. 

“Bye.”

“Bye.”

Watching Richie walk away was hard. Not as hard as facing off against a killer clown, or facing your dream-version of that clown in a nightmare with more blood than a pubescent girl’s toilet bowl, or trying to resist these thoughts that almost never stop biting at you, trying to make you feel like giving up is the only answer. It was a different kind of hard. One that makes chests ache, and dry eyes turn to wet. Both were happening to Stan as he watched Richie leave. They kept happening, even the next morning. While his father loaded suitcases stuffed with his son’s every possession and while his mother called to let his Bubby know they were on their way to the airport, Stan’s chest still ached. He felt like his bones were being twisted and scratched at, breaking apart into crumbs of skeleton. His lips were quivering, shaking like pets left out in the cold, all wet and scared and alone and yelping for attention. His throat was scratchy and sore, like he was drowning from the inside and no amount of coughing or vomiting could ever free him up. Stan felt all of these things as the car drove away from everything and everyone he’d ever known. Away from the crackhouse where the clown may still have been lurking, hibernating until Its next chance. Away from his friends, who had his back even when he thought they abandoned him. Away from the boy with thick glasses and vulgar vocabulary, who was there for him when he needed him most.

He didn’t mind the sadness. He didn’t mind the aching and the soreness and the tears and the choking. Because they meant he was feeling. And feeling meant he was alive. _ Aliv__e_. And that was the best option.

He knew that now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Take On Me" (Unplugged)- a-ha: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=92SGEe8l2Ng
> 
> (^Again: awesome song, especially this version.)
> 
> Okay, first things first: I would like to thank everyone who's been reading this story: thank you so much!! It means a lot to me, and I hope you feel like your time was well spent, and that you don't regret clicking on this fic.  
Secondly: I feel like I should address the ending. I know it's probably not what you would have necessarily wanted, but I truly do feel like it was the best way to end this story. I have my reasons, and in case anyone was wondering, "I wanted to be cool by being angsty" was not one of them. I'm not saying people should be happy about it, but hopefully you see where I'm coming from and why I chose to end this story this way.  
And thirdly:  
So...yeah. That's how this story ends.  
Or is it?  
Yes. Yes, that's how it ends. That was the final chapter.  
But wait- this is a series. Is there another story coming?  
Yes. Yes there is, and I'm writing it right now. I'm aiming to finish/post it for late December or early 2020, but as a head's up it will be quite a while until we pick up right where this story leaves off. Someone else wants some time in the spotlight, and when Its done, the mic will be passed back to Stanley. If people want what I might do is update this story again with a new chapter that's not actually a new chapter, but instead a sort of announcement with more details about when the next part is coming and what it's going to be about.  
Just again I'd like to thank everyone for reading this story. I really hope you've grown attached to my interpretation of the characters and the sort of directions I've been taking them, and aren't like "Oh my god this fucking loser thinks we care but we don't lawlz." If you are thinking that: firstly, I'm very sorry to hear that. Secondly: Loser is not an insult in my book. But if you're not thinking that and you're liking everything so far: AWESOME!! THAT MAKES ME SO HAPPY! LOVE YOU SO MUCH! Hopefully you'll keep enjoying what's to come.
> 
> So yeah. That's all I've got so far. Like I said: really hope you're enjoying this, and stay tuned: Stanley will be back. And Richie too, of course.  
Sincerely,  
Alex "I may or may not have pissed off all of my readers with this ending: whoops. But I also may or may not have dropped a major, not-so-subtle, pretty-sure-everyone's-caught-it-by-now hint as to what part 3 is about somewhere in this ending Notes section: whoops again" M-M


	10. Announcements (Not a New Chapter)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!  
Did you know that today (or at least when I'm writing this) marks the thirty year anniversary of the release of Back to the Future Part II? Well it is! November 24th, 1989! (Technically the 22nd because of how movie releases on Thanksgiving weekends work, but I digress). Seeing as how important the movie is in this IT universe I've been writing, I couldn't let the anniversary go by without making something to celebrate. So I thought today would be an awesome time to provide an update on where this series is going for anyone who may be interested, and to do that, I drew a logo to reveal the title for the next installment. For some reason it doesn't appear if you're on your phone, but if you're not you can check it out right here, and if you are, then you can just scroll through and keep reading the notes for the title. Are you ready? Drumroll please...
> 
> For anyone who's interested...
> 
> The next fic...
> 
> Will be called...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, you've heard it here first! Part three in this series will be titled "Keeping Up With The Losers Club (And Other Things To Do While Stuck in the Sewers For Twenty-Seven Years). Here's some details:  
\- The story will pick up after the events of It Chapter One, and follow Pennywise spying on the Losers Club while living in a sort of existential crisis after being defeated.  
-Each Loser will have at least one chapter centered around them, with some taking place before "A Good Night's Sleep" and "Stanley", and others taking place after. We'll see things like "How did Bill deal with the anniversary of Georgie's disappearance?" "How did Stan and Richie get together?" "What has Bev been up to this whole time?" and of course, though it'll be a while, "How is Stanley doing now that he's away from Richie and the Losers?"  
-I'm aiming for to post a short first chapter in early January, and then continue weekly with longer chapters.
> 
> Until then...  
Happy Holidays/New Year!  
Sincerely,  
Alex M-M  
PS: I will delete this "chapter" when I post the next story. Just to keep this story as it's own thing.


End file.
